Finding the Truth
by bluewizard313
Summary: Levy, staying with her uptight grandma, will face a lot of drama and have to deal with the past. Along the way she falls in love and at the end discovers a huge secret. Story better then the summary. Please keep an open mind during this story, it may seem like everything is wrong at first, but it will be all good at the end, i promise.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys, so this is all based off of a book I just read. BTW nobody has magic in this… kinda :D anyways, I hope you like it! _

_Disclaimer: none of the FT characters are mine and this story follows a book._

"Im not going," I had told my dad back in June. "She's a mean old lady. She disowned Mom and won't speak to you. She never had anything to do with Jet, Droy, or me. Why should I have anything to do with her?" He gave me a pleading look, "For your mother's sake." Several months later I was on a flight from my home town to Magnolia, still resisting my grandmother's royal command to visit. I took out her invitation, the first message I'd received from her in my life, and reread it – two sentences, sounding as stiff as a textbook exercise.

_ Dear Levy,_

_ This summer I will see you at the Scarborough House._

_ I have enclosed a check to cover airfare._

_Regards,_

_Porlyusica Scarborough Redfox_

Well, I didn't really expect "love and kisses" from a woman who cut off her only daughter when she had decided to marry someone of a different race. My mother, coming from a deep-rooted Eastern Shore family, has more English blood in her than Prince Charles. My father, also from an old Maagnolia family, is Native American. After trying to have children on their own, they adopted me and my two brothers. It would be naïve to expect warmth from a person who refused to consider adopted kids as her grandchildren.

"Levy? You made it!" the woman said, crumpling up the sign with my name on it, then giving me a big hug. "I'm Mirajane, you're mother's old best friend." She laughed. "I guessed you figured that out." When Mirajane heard I was coming, she'd insisted on meeting me at the airport. That October day we loaded my luggage into the back of her ancient green station wagon, pushing aside bags of old sweaters, skirts, shoes and purses. "I hope you don't mind the smell of mothballs," Mirajane said. "No problem," I replied.

"We can open the windows," she told me, "Of course, the muffler's near gone." I laughed. White hair and soft eyes, she had the same slight accent my mother has. I felt comfortable with her right away. "It's about a two hour drive," she said, "I told Mrs. Redfox I'd have you at the Scarborough House well before dark." I nodded in understand. "I'm getting curious," I told her. "When my Mom left Magnolia, she didn't bring any pictures with her. I've seen a few photos that my uncle Metalicana sent, showing him and Mom playing when they were little, but you can't see the house in them. What is it like?"

"What has your mom told you about it?" Mirajane asked. "Not much. There's a main house with a back wing. It's old." "That's about it," Mirajane said. It was a short answer from a person who had spent a lot of time there as a child and teenager – nearly as short as my mother's answer had been. "Oh, and it's haunted," I added. "People say that," Mirajane replied with a shrug. I looked at her, surprised. I had been joking. "Of course, every old house on the Shore has its ghost stories," she added quickly. "Just keep the lights on if it feels spooky." This trip might be more interesting than I thought.

Mirajane turned on the radio, punching in a country station. We crossed two sets of railroad tracks. I watch the scenery change from outlet stores to fields of corn and soy and low horizon of trees. The sky was half the world on the Eastern Shore. "What's my grandmother like?" I asked at last. For a full minute the only response was the roar of the car engine. "She's, uh, different." Mirajane said. "Different how?" I persisted. "She has her own way of seeing things. She can be fierce at times." "Do people like her?" Mirajane hesitated. "Have you spent much time in a small town?" she asked. "No," I replied shaking my head slightly. "Small-town folks are like a big family living in one house. They can be real friendly and helpful, but they can also say nasty things about each other and squabble a lot." She hadn't answered my question about how others say my grandmother, but I could figure it out. She wasn't the town favorite.

We rumbled over the metal grating of the drawbridge. I hung my head out the window for a moment. "We're on Scarborough Street now," Mirajane said. "The streets off to our right lead down to the commercial docks, where the oyster and crab boats are. The streets to the left border the college. In a few blocks we'll be crossing over High Street, which is the main street for us. Want to drive down it?" "Sure." We passed a school, went a block further, and then took a right onto High. The street had a mix of houses, churches, and small shops, all of the buildings made of brick or wood. "There's my shop, Fairy Tail." Mirajane slowed down and pointed to a storefront with a large, paned window that bowed out over the sidewalk. "Next door is Tea Leaves. Jellal, the owner, makes pastries to die for." We drove past her house and she kept talking about the town.

She paused as if she was thinking, "You know," she started, "You're welcome to stay with me if things get difficult." "Difficult how?" I asked. She shrugged. "I find it isolated out there on the other side of the Wist. And Scarborough House seems awfully big without a family to fill it up." "Is that why my grandmother invited me? She can't get anyone else to come?" I asked tilting my head a bit. "I doubt _that's _the reason. Mrs. Redfox has never liked company – whoa!" Mirajane exclaimed, hitting the brakes hard, sending shoe boxes tumbling over the seat from the back of the station wagon. A guy in an open-topped Jeep, impatient to get around a car making a turn, had suddenly cut in front of us. The backseat passengers of the red Jeep, two girls and a guy, held on to one another and hooted. The girl in the front seat turned briefly to look at us, laughing and tossing her long hair. The driver didn't acknowledge his near miss.

"Jerk," I said outloud. Mirajane looked amused. "That was your cousin." "My cousin?" I twisted in my seat, to look down the side street where the Jeep had made another sudden turn. "Gajeel Redfox," she replied. "He's been living with your grandmother since his parents' divorce. You didn't know that?" I shook my head. "She bought him the Jeep this past summer. Rumor has it he's getting his own boat. Gajeel's usually carting around jocks or girls." Spoiled and wild, I thought. But things were looking up. No matter what he was like, spending two weeks with a guy my own age was better than being alone with a fierce 76 year old. I'd just fasten my seat belt and go along for the ride. "Does my grandmother drive?" I asked. "Pretty much like Gajeel," Mira replied, laughing.

We crossed the Wist, rumbling over an old bridge, drove about a quarter mile more, then turned right between two brick pillars. The private road that led to my grandmother's started out as paved, but crumbled into gravel and dirt. Tall, conical cedar trees lined both sides. The did not bend gracefully over the drive, as trees do in pictures of southern mansions, but stood upright, like giant green game pieces. At the end of the double row of trees I saw a section of the sloping gray roof and brick chimneys, four of them. "We're coming up behind the house." Mira said. "The driveway loops around to the front. You're seeing the back wing. That picket fence runs along the herb garden by the kitchen."

"The house is huge." "Remember that you are welcomed to stay with me," she said. "Thanks, but I'll be fine." Now that I was here, I was looking forward to the next two weeks. I mean, how much terror could one little old woman be? It's be fun to explore the old house and its land, especially with my cousin my age. 4 hundred acres of fields and woods and waterfront – it seemed unbelievable that I didn't have to share them with other hikers in a state park. A wave of excitement and confidence washed over me. Then Mira circled the house and parked in front.

"Levy," she said, after a moment of silence, "Levy, are you alright?" I nodded. "I'll help you with your luggage." "Thanks." I climbed out of the car slowly, staring up at Grandmother's house. 3 stories of pained windows, brick with a shingled roof, a small covered porch with facing benches. I took my luggage from Mira, feeling a little shaky. I walked up the steps and the door opened.

_AND THAT'S THE END! Of chapter one of course! So I hope you like the story so far! HAVE A NICE DAY PEOPLES AND PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!_


	2. Chapter 2

_My house smells like burnt ramen noodles, its gross. ANYWAYS, lets continue on with this adventure!_

_Disclaimer: none of the FT characters are mine (obviously) and this story does follow a book._

"Well, what is it?" asked a short heavyset woman whose hair was tipped orange from an old peroxide job. "I'm here to see Mrs. Redfox." My voice sounded timid as a child's. Mira climbed the porch steps behind me. "Nancy, this is Levy, Mrs. Redfox's granddaughter." Nancy's response was to turn her back and retreat into the house. I glanced questioningly at my mother's friend. "Nancy comes in three times a week to cook and clean for your grandmother," Mira informed me in a low voice. "Is she always this friendly?" "Fraid so."

Without stepping inside, I peered down the long, unlit center hall. Nancy stopped at a door near the foot of the stairway, knocked, then entered. When she returned to us, she spoke to Mira. "Mrs. Redfox wants to know how much she owes you for bringing the girl and whether you'd accept a check." A look of surprise flickered across Mira's face. "Please tell her it was my pleasure."

"Thanks for picking me up Mira," I said, slightly embarrassed. She smiled at my nickname I silently gave her. "Sure thing, you know where to find me." She squeezed my hand and left. Score one for Grandma, I thought as I lugged my bags inside the house: I haven't even met her and she's already made me feel like an inconvenience. Nancy, having emerged a second time from the room by the stairs, fixed me wither her eyes, then pointed a thumb over her shoulder. I figured it was a signal for me to go in. there was no chance to ask, since the housekeeper exited quickly through a door at the back of the hall.

I stood by the front door, considering my options. What would happen if I simply waited here? Who would give in first, me or Porlyusica Scarborough Redfox? I decided to take my time studying the center hall, which ran from the front door of the house to a smaller door under the main stairs, its wide plank floor covered with islands of rugs. I have never been in a hall large enough to contain sofas, side chairs and tables. Heavy wood doors led into four rooms, two on each side. The broad staircase rose toward the back of the house, turned and climbed several steps against the back wall, then disappeared as it turned again towards the front. A grandfather clock ticked on the stairway landing: 4:25.

"Levy." The voice was low and firm, used to being obeyed. I took a deep breath and walked down the hall, stopping inside the frame door. The room was a library, its dark walls lined with shelves of books. It smelled of leather and old fireplace ashes. I liked it immediately; I wish I could say the same thing for the pink-haired woman who sat stiff-based behind a desk. She rose slowly, surprising me with her height, I was three inches taller than my mother, and so was she. Porlyusica Scarborough Redfox observed me so closely I felt as if she were counting the threads in my clothes, adding up them and everything else she saw to see if I passed. Fine. I could study her too, and decided whether she passed as a grandmother.

She had pale skin and high cheekbones. Her hair, pulled back in a French twist, and tiny drop earrings gave her a kind of elegance despite the fact she was wearing jeans. I met her red eyes as steadily as I could. "You may sit down," she said. "I'd like to stand, if you don't mind. I've been sitting all day." There was a slight pause, then, she nodded and seated herself, "Just don't pace." I felt an incredible urge to pace but kept it in check. "How is your mother doing?" she asked. "Good – _well_," I corrected my grammar. "Did you know she finished her master's degree? Last month she started a new job. She's at the same school, but as a reading specialist. She loves the kids. She's terrific with them." I knew I was chattering.

"And your brothers?" They're great. Droy is into music while Jet is into sports. Jet really likes track, he loves to run." "And your trip here?" "My father is doing great too," I said, though she hadn't asked about him. "He was honored by the Sonoran Desert Museum for his work with mammals." "Please answer only the questions I ask," Grandmother told me. "Just filling in the details," I responded cheerfully, though we both knew otherwise. I wasn't about to let Dad be cut out of the family. "How was your trip here?" "Fine." She waited a moment, perhaps to see if I'd fill in the details. I didn't. "I had expected you to come here in the summer, Levy."

"As Mom explained to you, I go to a year-round school and had already committed myself to working at a camp for my three-week summer break. October was the next free time." "What is your parentage?" The sudden question too me aback. I stared at her for a long moment. "My mother is Carolyn Redfox, my father, Kent Mcgarden," I said, as if it were news. "You know what I meant, girl." I pressed my lips together. "Your coloring is … unusual," she observed. I decided not to reply. I have wavy blue hair, which I kept short, green eyes, and skin that refuses to tan.

Correctly deducing that she wasn't going to get any information about my birth parents, Porlyusica Redfox rose from her chair. "I will show you to your room." I followed into the hall, fuming. I don't know what I had hoped for from her. An effort to get to know me, a conversation that lasted longer than three minutes and revealed some interest in me, other than genetic? Some shyness or awkwardness that told me that she, too, had intense feelings about this first meeting? There was no such sign. Her eyes could've iced over the Gulf of Mexico. "You will see the downstairs first," she said. I nodded. Apparently, "Would you like to?" wasn't part of her vocabulary.

She showed me the three other rooms that opened off the center hall. Like the library, each had a high ceiling and corner fireplace, but their walls were painted in bolder colors: peacock blue in the front parlor, bright mustard in the music room. The dining room, which was at the back of the main house and across the hall from the library, was blood red. All of the rooms had paintings with heavy gilt frames, the theme in the gory-colored dining room was animals and hunting. I hoped we ate in the kitchen.

"When was this house built?" I asked, abruptly turning away from an impaled dear. "In 1720," my grandmother answered, "by a family named Winchester." "When did our family move in?" "The Scarboroughs bought the house, the land, and the mill in the mid- 1800s." "Is that when our family came over from England?" "The Scarborughs," – she said the name clearly, as if to make a distinction between that family and what I called _our_ family – "have been in Magnolia since the 1600s. This land was purchased by the seventh generation as a wedding gift for a son." She led the way back into the hall. "Carry whatever luggage you can," she told me, resting a thin hand on the curved banister. "Gajeel will bring up the rest when he gets home from his study session."

_Study session? _ I thought. Better not mention that my cousin had come close to hitting Mira's car when he was supposed to be hitting the books. I carried all of my luggage. The trim in the upstairs hall was the same blue as the parlor's, but the walls were softened by faded wallpaper. A mirror, darkened with age, hung on one wall; on another were several photographs, old tintypes. My grandmother grew impatient as I looked at them. "Levy." She waited by the door at the top of the stairs, the only one open in the hall,

I entered and set down my bags. The square room had a fireplace in one corner and a four-poster bed in the center. Though the inside shutters had been pulled back and the windows opened, there was a musty smell, reminding me that a river was near. "Where's the water?" I asked, quickly crossing to a window. "On the map it looked close to the house. Oh, my, gosh, the trees!" I couldn't hide my enthusiasm. "I've never seen so much green! Look, their tops are just turning gold." My grandmother, not interested in looking, remained in the doorway. "You can see the creek and river when the leaves have fallen. These old homes were not built directly on the water because of the insects. Now they spray."

"Oh." "I'll leave you to unpack," she said. "Your bathroom is through that door. Dinner is at six. If there is anything you need –" "What am I supposed to call you?" She hesitated. "What does my cousin call you?" "Grandmother." "That's cool." I don't think she thought so, but she didn't object. She reached back for the door handle to pull it closed behind her. "Just so we understand each other, Levy. I will respect your privacy and assume you will respect mine." I gazed after her as she shut the door. What was _that _supposed to mean? I had been respecting her privacy for the last 17 years. If she didn't want to open the door between us now, why had she bothered to invite me?

I glanced around the bedroom. The rooms in this house were big – formal downstairs, and simple, almost stark, upstairs. I unpacked my clothes, then lifted out several small, framed pictures and set them on the bureau, smiling at the menagerie of people and critters. I put on a clean shirt and took out a comb, running it though my hair, then looked around for a mirror. Above a dressing table, where a mirror usually would hang, was a framed piece of embroidery: the Ten Commandments. _Well, that's nice, _I thought, _a friendly reminder to guest to behave themselves! _ I used the mirror on the medicine cabinet in the small bath attached to my room. As I emerged from the bathroom, I heard my cousin's Jeep circling the house. I quickly finished putting away my things and headed downstairs. At last I had someone my age to hang out with.

When I reached the landing with the clock, I could hear his voice. "She shouldn't have come. I told you before, Grandmother, it was a bad idea to invite her." Surprised, I leaned forward to hear Grandmother's response, but she spoke too softly. "It's just a gut feeling," my cousin said, "No, it's more than that. You haven't been acting like yourself since you first got this crazy idea." I walked noiselessly down the steps, straining to hear Grandmother's answer, but the library was partially closed and her voice muffled. "I really don't care," Gajeel insisted loudly. "She's not my cousin – she's adopted – and you've always been the one to point that out. I can't believe you didn't tell me she was coming today. I don't know what you're up to." This time I was close enough to hear Grandmother. "Worried?" she asked.

It was tempting to sneak up on them. But two long weeks loomed ahead and embarrassing Gajeel wouldn't make things easier. Give him a chance to change his mind, I told myself. I pounded down the last few steps, so they would hear me and have time to switch topics. Grandmother was sitting at her desk again. Gajeel's backpack was on the floor, his back turned to me. "Hello Levy," Grandmother said, then glanced in Gajeel's direction. "Hello," I replied, and followed her glance. Gajeel reached for a book high up on a shelf and began to page through it, keeping his back to me. I doubted he was as interested in the book as he was pretended. Well, okay. I could play this game. I sat down with my back to him.

"Grandmother," I said, "I was hoping you'd have some family pictures hanging up." "There's three in the upstairs hall," she replied. "The ones from the 1800s? They're cool. I was hoping you might have some of my grandfather and you. I'd love to see pictures of Mom and Uncle Metalicana when they were growing up." I glanced around the room. Despite the space available on the desk, the long fireplace mantel, and the walls of shelves, there wasn't a family photograph in sight. "I don't like photographs," she said. "Oh. Well, do you have some picture albums?" "No." "How come?" I asked. "I don't approve of taking pictures of ourselves. It's vain. It glorifies our own image." I frowned. "It also allows us to remember the people we love."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gajeel turn his head slightly. "You mentioned my cousin," I said. "Does he visit here often?" Her eyes flickered sideways, watching Gajeel. "He lives here." "Oh, good! Will he be here for dinner?" I caught the amusement in her eyes. "Yes." "What's he like?" A sly smile lit the corners of her mouth, as if she was enjoying the game. "You'll have to decide for yourself, Levy." "Good point. It's not fair to judge people before you actually meet them." The pleasure she took in our rude standoff convinced me to put an end to it.

I rose and walked over to my cousin. "Just so I don't misinterpret things," I said, "I want to know, are you shy or a snob?" He carefully closed the book and set it back on its shelf, so I got a good look at his profile, a tanned face that was too strongly cut to be described as "cute." His hair was black and thick. When he finally turned to me, I was ready to glare back and treat him to what my brother's call "the hot coals." But his eyes took me by surprise. They were dark and beautiful, fathoms deep, like a river when there's a red moon. Now I knew why three girls were riding around with him in his Jeep.

We both took a step back. His intense gaze made me unsteady. "I'm Levy," I said, anchoring my hands in my pockets so I wouldn't twist my hair. "Gajeel." He kept staring at me. I waited for him to say more, but he didn't. I wished he was either less good-looking or less of a jerk. I'd rather not be drawn to rude and arrogant guys. Until now, I hadn't. "Nice to meet you," I told him. He nodded, then turned and walked past me to pick up his backpack. "Are we eating at six, Grandmother?" "As always," she replied. Apparently our little family reunion was over. "May I go for a walk before dinner?" I asked. "I'd like to look around."

"Keep the house in view," Grandmother warned. "We don't want to have to search for you." "Would anybody like to go with me?" I added, giving friendliness another try. Maybe Gajeel would behave better when Grandmother wasn't around. "No." Her reply was blunt, but it was more of a response than I got from my cousin, who left the room silently. "Sorry Gajeel," I called. "I didn't hear your answer." He turned back in the hall, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. "No. No, thank you." I shrugged, wishing it was as easy to toss off the strange attraction I felt towards him.

After promising Grandmother I wouldn't get lost, I headed outside. I made a circle of the house, awed by the expanse of lawn and even more, the tall trees. I found an herb garden, which fit neatly into the L-shaped created by the main house and back wing. The brush of my fingers against the plants shook loose a dozen delicious smells. When I exited through the picket gate, I saw what appeared to be another garden, surrounded by brick with creamy roses tumbling over it. I hadn't noticed it when Mira drove in, for it was on the far side of the circular drive and I had been focusing on the house. Curious, I strode towards it.

As I got closer, I could see that it was a cemetery, probably a family burial plot. I opened the wrought-iron gate and stepped inside. Some of the gravestones were extremely old, round-shouldered and leaning forward as if they were tired, their names and dates no longer readable. There were new markers made of shiny granite and I walked over to look at them. _Thomas Redfox, _I read. My mother's father. I touched his stone lightly, then turned to the marker next to his. It was fancier, with roses carved into it. _Avril Scarborough. _The name echoed in my mind, as if someone had spoken it from the end of a very long hall. I read her dates, then drew back. I did the math again: She was just 17 when she died – she was my age.

The grave gave me an eerie feeling. I didn't want to touch her stone. I turned, suddenly compelled to get out of there. As I left I glanced toward the house. The lowering sun flared off the panes of glass; still, I noticed it, the movement of someone stepping back from a second-floor window, as if trying not to be seen. After a moment I realized the person had been watching me from my bedroom. I walked quickly toward the house, but the reflected light made it impossible to seen in it. A vague uneasiness seeped into me. Grandmother nor Gajeel seemed interested in getting to know me. But obviously, someone was interested enough to keep an eye me


	3. Chapter 3

_Well there isn't much of the story right now, but I hope you guys are all keeping an open mind and reading my story _

_Disclaimer: FT characters are not mine, and this story DOES follow a book._

I returned to the house forty minutes later, feeling a million times better, full of the clear blue and gold lights of the river and setting sun. I entered by way of the herb garden, walking up onto a covered porch and opening a door that led into the back hall. The small hall, which ran under the stairs, connected the back wing with the center hall of the main house. It had service doors to the dining room and library, and steps leading down to the back wing. There I found Grandmother in a kitchen with a huge open hearth. An old stove sat halfway inside the blackened fireplace. She stood next to it, stirring something.

"So you found your way back," she said. "Yes. I saw the river. It's awesome." "Then you must not have kept the house in sight," Grandmother observed shrewdly. "You cannot see it from any place along the riverbank, not this time of year." "I, uh, guess I did lose sight of the chimneys. But I have a pretty good sense of direction." She didn't reply. "Shall I set the table?" I offered. "It's set." So we were eating in the dining room with all those appetizing paintings of dying deer and fox. "You may carry out the meat and biscuits. The rest will get cold if Gajeel – well, it's about time," she told him as he came through the door.

"It's three minutes to six," he replied mildly, then joined her at the stove and began dishing out the greens. I may as well have been a kitchen stool he walked past. I carried out the platter of meat, then biscuits. He and Grandmother brought the soup and green beans. Grandmother sat at the head of the table with Gajeel at her right, which left me the seat across from him. As luck would have it, I was also across from the goriest deer hunting paintings. "We always pray first," Grandmother said as I pulled up my chair. She folded her hands, resting them on the edge of the table, so I did the same. Gajeel stared down at his plate. "Dear Lord," Grandmother began, "forgive us our trespasses this day. Though we lie with our lips and our hearts, call us back to your truth, and grant us mercy rather than the justice we deserve. Amen."

It was the gloomiest dinner prayer I ever heard. "Maybe we should give thanks, too," I suggested, "as long as we're praying before a meal." Gajeel glanced up. "You may pray however you like on your own," Grandmother replied, then handed me the ham, "I _am _relieved to see your parents didn't bring you up to be a complete heathen, though, no doubt, they've passed on some kooky ideas." "No doubt," I said cheerfully. She wasn't going to drag me and them down. I took a little of the meat, more of the green beans, and one very hard biscuit. A bowl of thick soup was dished out for me.

What appeared to be ham was so salty I could hardly swallow it. It was as if someone had glued fake bacon bits together, then sliced them ultra thin. "What do you call this kind of meat?" I asked. "Smithfield ham," said Grandmother. "It's a tradition." I took a long drink of water, ate another mouthful, then bit into a rock-hard biscuit. "Those are beaten biscuits," Grandmother told me. "Another tradition." Some of that tradition airplane food I'd turned down was looking pretty good now. I sampled the green beans, then gobbled them up. "Try your stew," Grandmother ordered.

I pulled the bowl closer and spooned the lumps of grayish-white stuff. "They're not raw," Gajeel said, "not when they're in the stew." "_What's _not raw?" I asked, setting down my spoon. "The oysters." I ate one mouthful. It was the slimiest seafood I'd ever tasted, swimming in heavy cream. "May I have the green beans, please?" "You're not a vegetarian, are you?" Grandmother asked. "I refuse to feed you if you are." "I'm trying a little bit of everything, Grandmother," I replied patiently, "but I have always liked green beans." _I _used _to like biscuits, _I thought, taking another bite of my hard, flat thing. "It's unnatural to avoid meat," she said with a harsh tone. "Look," I exclaimed, frustrated, "I am _not _a vegetarian! Though the paintings in this room are pushing me in that direction."

Gajeel's eyes flickered around the room, then came back to me. His dark gaze was unreadable, but at least he'd given up the pretension of not seeing me. "So what is your mother up in arms about these days?" Grandmother asked. "Migrant workers, I bet." She knew Mom better than I thought. Two letters on migrant living conditions had been sent to senators last week. To Gajeel, Grandmother said, "Carolyn marched for integration, raising taxes for education, luxury condos for chickens – for everything but common sense." "That's an exaggeration," I countered. "For the chickens she supported two-bedroom apartments."

Gajeel's mouth twitched, but he remained silent. Grandmother grimly ate her ham and biscuits. Obviously, she had no sense of humor, which meant I wasn't going to be able to joke my way out of an argument. "College ruined her," Grandmother went on. "It made her a sloppy thinker." "Mom says that when she went to college, she founded out how narrow minded she was." Grandmother laid down her fork. "There was nothing narrow about Carolyn's mind. When she left my house she saw the world clearly and knew right from wrong. After four years away she became hopelessly muddled." "It is easy to see clearly, when all you see is black and white," I argued, "when you believe everything has to be one or the other. But it doesn't."

"What is clear to me is that you weren't raised with manners," Grandmother countered, her eyes glittering. She didn't like me, but she liked conflict. "You weren't taught respect for your elders." "I was. But I don't fake well, and despite what Mom and Dad say, I don't respect people who don't respect others." A long silence followed. I chewed and listened to the clink of silverware. At last, Gajeel pushed back his chair. "I'm going to a movie tonight. Natsu is picking me up." "What movie?" Grandmother asked. "_Sheer Blue. _It just opened at the theater on High Street." "That film got great review in the paper," I said. "I've been waiting to see it."

Maybe he'd take the hint and ask me along. I was eager to be with kids my own age. "The chase seen is supposed to be fantastic," I added. "That's what everyone says," he replied. "I'll be home by one," he told Grandmother, then rose and picked up his dishes. I wasn't going to be invited. "You mean 12:30," Grandmother told him. "Who's going besides Natsu?" "Minerva, Flare, and Angel." "Oh, the girls you were studying with today," I ventured casually. He turned around, surprised. "It's just Natsu that he studies with," Grandmother informed me. "Really?" Gajeel gave me a look, which translated into something like _drop dead,_ then left.

When the kitchen was cleaned up, she told me it was custom to read in the evening. I could sit in the library with her, as long as I did not talk or listen to music. Her invitation didn't give me warm and cozy feelings. And I doubted she'd approve of the book I'd picked up at the airport: the cover showed a woman with a torn dress and half-bared breasts running from a big house on a stormy night. As it turned out, sitting inside a cozy circle of lamplights on the high four-poster bed, with the dense night falling around Grandmother's house, was a perfect way to read a gothic romance. When I heard Grandmother come up, I changed into my nightgown but kept turning the pages. The face of the deranged housekeeper started to look like Nancy's and the warm-hearted cook spoke with Mira's voice. The story melted into the events if the day and my eyes closed.

Two hours later I sat straight up, knocking my book off the bed. I had been dreaming about the house again, playing in the same cozy room with the sloped ceiling and dormer windows. But my old dream had become so clear, so real, I could hardly believe I was awake in a different room. In the dream I had a new toy: a dollhouse that was a miniature of Grandmother's house. I threw back the quilt and slid off the edge of the bed. The night was brighter than when I'd fallen asleep, the air colder. I pulled a sweatshirt on over my nightgown, then stood at the window that looked down on the herb garden. The late-rising moon silvered the roofs of the back wing, both the shiny tin over the kitchen porch and the duller wood shingles that peaked above each second-floor window. Dormer windows and a sloped roof! Was my playroom in the back wing? Was it real?

I snatched up my purse and dug for my key chain. It had a penlight anchoring it which, with the moonlight, was bright enough to show my way. I eased open the bedroom door. The hall was lit dimly by a lamp on a side table. All the doors were shut, just as they had been earlier in the day. I glanced back at my alarm clock: 11:59. I doubted Gajeel would be home before curfew. I slipped down the wide stairway, hurrying passed the grandfather clock. In the shadows it seemed like another person, standing stiff and tall on the landing, watching me with disapproval. Just as I reached the bottom of the steps, it began its long toll of twelve.

A lit wall sconce in the lower hall guided me through the door that led into the back hall. I passed the service entrances to the dining room and library and tiptoed down the steps to the rear wing. I walked through the kitchen and opened a door next to the big hearth, then followed a hall that ended at a corner stair. As I reached the stair, the sound of an engine caught my attention. Gajeel was being dropped off. I quickly climbed the narrow, triangular steps.

The room at the top had a low, sloping roof, peaked in the middle, with dormer windows on each side, just as in my dream. But it was empty. I played my penlight over the walls, its beam flashed off a bright object, a knob. I outlined the rectangle of a built-in cupboard, then walked over and opened it. Something ran across my feet. I jammed my hand in my mouth to keep me from screaming, and then to silence my laughter – nervous laughter. The mouse was probably just as rattled. I shone the penlight inside the cupboard and my grip tightened. There it was, the dollhouse, a smaller version of Scarborough House, accurate down to the dormer windows in the back wing where I was standing.

I slid the house out of the cupboard and into a pool of moonlight, then knelt before it. There were large hinges on the corners which allowed the entire front to be opened as one panel. I gently pulled it back, inside was miniature furniture, replicas of that in the real house. I sat back on my heels, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for dreaming about something I'd never seen, then seeing it for real. As a little kid, I used to pretend I was going inside the pictures of my books. I'd imagine fairy-tale castles in three dimensions and daydream about living inside them. Among the photos Uncle Metalicana had sent Mom, I remember a picture of her Barbie doll. It was possible that the dollhouse was in those photos and that I had imagined going inside it, until it became a house in my dreams.

As for the similarity between this room and my dream room, there were many ways to account for that. The lodge where my family vacationed at last year had a sloping roof and dormer windows, and I'd always liked that place. It figured that I'd turn it into a playroom inside my dream house. I closed the front of the dollhouse and slid it back inside the cupboard. When I stood up, I noticed a door that might leaf back to my room by and upstairs route, but played it safe and left the way I had come. At the bottom of the narrow stairs I clicked off my penlight and walked noiselessly toward the kitchen.

After making sure that Gajeel wasn't having a late night snack, I tiptoed through the kitchen and up the steps connecting the wing to the main house. In the back hall I stopped abruptly. Gajeel was in the library, sitting at Grandmother's desk, his back to me. He was leaning over a drawer, searching it, opening up files and boxes, sifting through contents that I couldn't see. What was he up to? For a moment I thought of bursting in and asking him, but then I'd have some explaining to do as well. I slipped down the hall and padded upstairs to my room.


	4. Chapter 4

_Well we're only a few chapters in but I hope you guys like my story. Everything is probably gonna seem really screwed up in this chapter, but just keep reading to see how it works out in the end. PLEASE REVIEW_

_Disclaimer: well, you guys know what isn't mine, so this is unnecessary._

Sunday morning Gajeel and I arrived downstairs at the same time, close to ten o'clock. Grandmother greeted me first. "You wasted a fine morning." _And good morning to you, too,_ I thought. But it was a new day and I was determined to make it start out well. "I wish I gotten up earlier," I said. She turned to my cousin. "I don't like being left with the chores, Gajeel." "What chores, Grandmother?" He asked, then leaned down from the waist in a runner's stretch. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, which showed off the muscled body of a guy who worked out often. _Stop looking, Levy, _I told myself.

"You live here," Grandmother answered him sharply. "You know what has to be done." "Yes," he replied, "but what exactly do you need done?" "My car has to be washed." "I did it Thursday afternoon, remember?" "The house gutters must be cleaned." "I've done most of that. I'll finish up after the football game this afternoon." "There is raking." "It would make more sense in another week." "Is there something I can do?" I asked. Gajeel gave me a cold look. I mirrored it, then I saw the spark in Grandmother's eye. She enjoyed the fact that we didn't get along.

"I can handle things," he told me. What _was _his problem? Did he think I was competing for brownie points? He seemed too sure of himself to worry about being anything less than "number one" with her. And even if some of that confidence was an act, he knew how Grandmother felt about adopted children. As irritated as I was with Gajeel, I was even more annoyed with myself for continuing to give him chances to be rude. But something defiant in me, something that refused to believe this was the genuine Gajeel, kept trying.

"Are you going for a run?" I asked. He nodded. "Can I go with you?" he picked up a plastic bottle from the kitchen counter and twisted the top off. "No." "Why not?" "I'm doing some serious running." I prickled. "Meaning you don't think I can keep up with you?" "Maybe you can," he said with a shrug, then took a vitamin. "Then why not? In twenty-five words or more," I added, tired of his short answers. He gazed at me with deep red eyes. "I work hard year-round to keep in shape for lacrosse. I run cross-country, not little loops around a track." "At home my dad and I do trails through low mountains, just because I'm small doesn't mean that I can't endure."

He nodded, unimpressed, then opened a different bottle and took another vitamin. "Tell me," I said, "what kind of supplement do you take to grow an attitude like yours?" A crack of a smile, just a crack. Then he pushed both bottles toward me. "Help yourself, though I think your attitude's developed enough." I glanced at the bottles, which contained ordinary vitamins, then sat down at the kitchen table to drink my juice. I wished I had a newspaper to read, something to page through casually while waiting for him to leave. I grabbed a cereal box and studied that until I heard the screen door bang shut. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Grandmother mark a page in her Bible, then put it on the shelf by the window.

She returned to the table, resting her hands on the back of a chair, "You're not at all like your mother." I glanced up, surprised. What an odd comment for someone who never forgot I wasn't related by birth! "Did you expect me to be?" "Children learn from the person with whom they live. Even as a teenager, your mother was sweet-natured and gentle with people. She never had a harsh comment for anyone." "Still doesn't," I said, setting aside the cereal box. "So where did you get that sharp tongue?" Grandmother asked. I sigh and stood up. "Don't know. Where did your child get her gentleness?"

I went for a run by myself that morning, following Scarborough Road away from town, passing field after field of harvested corn. I knew better than to expect and invitation to the football game that afternoon. After a long shower and a quick brunch, I asked Grandmother if she wanted to do some shopping in town. She informed me that she only mixed with "the riffraff" when absolutely necessary. "I shall tell Gajeel to drop you off," she added. "Thanks but I can get there myself." I figured it was only a twenty-minute walk to the stores of High Street, and I was too proud to accept any ride she had commanded.

In the early afternoon I crossed the bridge. When I turned onto High street, I saw a sign advertising "Sidewalk Saturday." About four blocks from the harbor, the shopping distract turned into one long sale. Paperbacks were piled in wheelbarrows by the steps of Lisanna's Books. Mobiles and wind chimes dangled from dangled form the sycamore tree in front of Cana's Gallery. Erza's Antiques had transformed it patch of bricks into a Victorian parlor with chairs and a sofa. Groups of people strolled in and out of the small shops, some of the crowd walking in the street. Cars crept along, apparently used to this weekend style of life.

When I arrived at Fairy Tail, Mira barely had anytime to say hello. Her shop clerk had gone home ill, which left Mira trying to guide her shopped and cover the register. "Want some help?" I asked. "I worked at Dad's animal hospital. I know how to count change and do credit card purchases." "Oh, honey, it's your vacation." "But I'd like to," I told her. "Gajeel doesn't want to hang out with me. Grandmother doesn't want to hang out with anyone. This would give me something to do." Mira played with the amber beads around her neck. "Well, I could sure use a hand," she admitted, her eyes darting after a customer. "You're on."

Wearing a work apron embroidered with the shop's name, armed with credit forms and a money box, I took my place at a table outside. I bagged and boxed. I read price tags and squinted at driver's licenses, copying their numbers onto checks. Some customers were locals, but more were visitors. I enjoyed watching the parade of people and listening to the conversations around me. I learned that shoppers are not as easy to deal with as dogs and cats. A senior citizen with salon-molded hair argued with Mira for selling a jacket she had asked Mira to hold over two months ago. Her nurse companion, a woman with only a bikini top on with some shorts, picked through the drinks on the table next to me.

"She'll go on like this for another five minutes," said the aide. "Maybe ten. We've argued our way down two blocks of High Street. Always do." "Sounds like you don't have an easy job," I replied sympathetically. She shrugged. "Easier than the last one. Pay's better too. Mrs. Redfox thinks it's still 1950." I looked up from the roll of quarters I had just cracked open. "Mrs. Redfox?" "Out Scarborough House." The woman kept wrinkling her nose and bringing the bottles close to her face. I was afraid she was going to take a drink out of one. "Guess you're not from these parts," she said. "I, uh, just arrived."

"Well, let me put it this way. Mrs. Redfox makes _her_" – she gestured toward the older woman – "seem like a saint to live with. As for that spooky old house, where she'll let you board 'cause she's paying you peanuts, well, I wouldn't live there for any amount of money." "How come?" I asked, curious. "It's haunted." My eyes widened. The woman saw she had an interested audience. "My sister warned me," she chattered on. "Said it wasn't just the house. It was the family. None of them Scarboroughs was quite right in the head. That's why Mrs. Redfox's daughter ran off like she did. She had to get away." "From what?" "Avril Scarborough, I suppose."

I recognized the name from the gravestone. "She was murdered, you know." "Murdered!" I replied with disbelief. The woman's head bobbed. "The family covered it up. Said it was an accident. It wasn't." "How do you know it wasn't?" I asked. "I've seen the ghost. In the rear wing, the room above the kitchen, the only night I stayed there. Say what you want, but happy dead people don't come back to haunt." "Cana," the older woman hissed. "I'm ready to go." "Never asks if _I'm _ready," Cana muttered to me, then stepped forward to take the woman's arm and guide her down the street. I stared after them. My mother would have told me if someone in her family had been murdered. _It's just gossip compounded by Cana's imagination, _I thought.

For the next hour we were extremely busy. Still, as I ran my finger down a tax table and stuffed tissues in boxes, I found myself wondering what could have spawned Cana's story. Small-town boredom? Or was there a suspicious event that could be interpreted that way? I became so lost in thought. I didn't hear what a customer had just said to me. "I'm sorry, what?" The blonde-haired girl gazed back at me with wide eyes and smiled a little. "I didn't say anything." I was certain she had, but perhaps it was the black haired girl who had stopped with two friends to sort through items on our sidewalk tables. She looked like the passenger I'd seen in the front of Gajeel's Jeep yesterday. Her two friends echoed whatever opinion she had. She liked the beaded purses, so they liked the beaded purses. She thought the jewelry was for old ladies, so they thought the jewelry was for old ladies.

I noticed that blonde looked up at the girls once or twice, as if to say hello, but they didn't acknowledge her. _Snobs, _I thought. She seemed used to it and went back to her own browsing, lifting up a silver chain that dangled a soft pink stone. "Try it on," I told her. "There's a mirror inside the store." She quickly put it down. "I can't buy it." "So? Doesn't mean you can't try it on." She looked at me uncertainly, then smiled, picked up the pendant, and went inside. When I turned to a woman waiting to but a lace collar, I saw the two echoes watching me, but the "leader" quickly got their attention with a comment about the shop's ugly old jewelry. I focused on finding my customer the right-size box, pulling out a flat piece of cardboard, then fitting the tabs into their slots.

"Gajeel! Hey, Gajeel!" the girl with black hair called out, and I glanced up. My cousin and three other guys strode toward her and her friends. _So that's what you look like when you smile, _I thought. It was a terrific smile, I noted grudgingly, then lined my customer's box with tissue. "Hi, Minerva," he greeted the black hair girl first. "Flare, Angel." "We missed you," Minerva said to him. "We didn't see you at the game." "Oh, I think you did," he replied lightly. "I was sitting with Gray, remember?" "Your sports buddy." I heard the sneer in her voice, raising my head, I saw it on her face. "He's my teammate," Gajeel said, still smiling. "You're always sitting with your teammates," he added, nodding at the echoes. Boy, did he know how to flirt with those eyes! The girls on either side giggled. "They're friends," she told him, in a fake, quarreling voice. "We don't play a sport." "Partying," he said. "Isn't that one?" They all laughed.

I stamped my customer's check with an irritated thump. Why was he so flirty and charming to some people and such a jerk to me? I handed the package to my customer. "Thanks very much. Come again," I said, quietly. Apparently not quietly enough. I was turning my George Washingtons face up, counting the singles when I realized that Gajeel's group of friends had stopped talking. I looked up to see him staring at me. "What are you doing here?" he asked. He sounded as if he'd caught me trespassing. "Working. You got a problem with that?" The pinkette guy next to Gajeel glanced sideways at him and smiled. "You're supposed to be visiting Grandmother," he told me. "I don't remember _you _showing an interest in anything I was doing."

Everyone but the grinning guy looked uncomfortable, Minerva moved closer to my cousin. "Who is she?" I prickled at her tone. "Levy, my cousin, sort of," Gajeel replied. "What do you mean by sort of?" asked the smiling guy. "Gajeel's father is my uncle, sort of," I said. The guy looked from Gajeel to me. There was a brightness in his onyx eyes, a spark of laughter. I liked him immediately. "So, who are you?" I asked bluntly. "Natsu Dragneel." He held out his right hand. "Your sort-of cousin's friend. I hope he's not like this at home." "He is." Gajeel scowled. "When he starts with me," Natsu said, "I just ignore him." "Is he like this a lot?" I asked. "How long does he stay that way?" What a scowl! "Don't you know? You're his cousin," Natsu pointed out. "We met for the first time yesterday. Though Gajeel has disliked me long before that." Natsu looked puzzled.

I heard Gajeel suck in his breath and let it out slowly. "Maybe we should talk at home, Levy." "Why, wouldn't that be a nice change!" He didn't reply. "Levy?" Mira called through the door. "Can you give me twenty singles?" "Be right in," I said, banding the stack of bills I had just counted. Gajeel's friends drifted off. The way the girls bent their hands together, I figured they were discussing me. I picked up the cash box to carry inside, but Mira met me at the door. "Thanks honey, I don't know what I'd do without you." I returned to my post in time to see Natsu pull Gajeel back from the departing group. "What's with the sort-of cousin stuff?" he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down, perhaps thinking I was inside. "Is she or isn't she?"

"Legally she is, but not really." Gajeel replied. "She's adopted." "Which means you can date her," Natsu said. "Are you interested?" "No," Gajeel answered quickly. "Good. I am." "She's got a mouth," my cousin warned. His friend shrugged, "Makes it easier to kiss." Gajeel must have made a strange face because Natsu laughed at him, then walked off to join the others. Gajeel glanced back over his shoulder. His jaw dropped a little when he realized I was standing right there. I turned away just as the blonde was coming from inside the shop. "Want to see how it looks?" she asked, smiling shyly. "Miss Mira told me to try these earrings with it." A huge smile grew on my face, "I knew it would look great on you!" She touched the stone lightly, then reluctantly, reached back for the clasp.

"Too much?" "Yes," she said, handing it to me. I glanced at the tag. "Whoa! That's a lot of Big Macs." I put it back in the velvet case and she set the earrings next to it. "I'm Lucy. Lucy Heartifilia." "Levy Mcgarden," I told her. "Nice to meet you. I, uh, was standing by the door when Gajeel was talking with Natsu," Lucy said. "Gajeel's your cousin?" "Legally." _Darn, _I thought, _now _I'm _making that distinction. _"I'm visiting for two weeks." "I hope you have a real good time. I probably shouldn't ask this. But has Gajeel ever told you anything about the girls at school and, well, who he likes?" I started to laugh at the thought of him confiding in me, then stifled it, realizing that Lucy might have a crush on him.

"Why? Are you interested in him?" She blushed a little. "Every girl in the senior class is interested in him," she told me. "And Gajeel never lets on who he really likes, which makes all the girl's crazy." I shook my head. "Sorry, I don't have a clue. I don't really know him." Lucy nodded. "I guess he's just one of those people who get along with everyone." _Nearly everyone, _I thought.

_Tbh, I almost made Natsu and Lucy the main characters for this story. But I didn't because the best friend of the guy in the story is really funny and charming and I just imagined Natsu like that. Beside the relationship between the characters Natsu and Lucy plays as is really good for those two. ANYWAYS, tell me what you think. Even if it is bad! HAVE A NICE DAY!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the few people who reviewed so far __ that means so much to me… anyways on with the story! _

At four o'clock Mira told me to take a break and sent me to Tea Leaves with some money. Figuring that tonight's dinner would be leftovers from last night's, I splurged and got a piece of chocolate cheesecake **[A/N: chocolate cheesecake… yuummmmmm] **The café was a comfortable place with a worn tile floor and painted tables and chairs, none of the sets matching. At the back was a long glass case filled with bakery items, as well as a refrigerator case with yogurt and salads. A lady with long red hair and a man who had a weird tattoo on his face waited on customers. The two people kept glancing at each other with longing looks and loving smiles. A pang of jealously and yearning bubbled up inside of me.

I carried my dessert to a table by the bay window, glad for a chance to sit down. There was a sign in the window, its letters faded but readable: FORTUNES TOLD HERE. Well, I didn't need a psychic to tell me I was headed for two tough weeks. _Why did Gajeel dislike me so much? _I wondered. I had never had troubled making friends. It was as if he'd made up his mind about me before we'd met. I took a forkful of cheesecake, then another. Stop trying to figure Gajeel out, I told myself. He's a jerk.

"Everything okay?" The beautiful red hair lady had come from behind the counter to wipe down tables. "If you don't like your selection, help yourself to something else." I realized I must have been frowning. "Whatever you want. On the house," she added. "Oh, no!" I said quickly. "It's the best cheesecake I've ever had." She smiled softly and glanced at the blue haired man, "My husband does make really good bakeries." Her soft smile turned into a cheerful one. "And you know, it doesn't have a single calorie – as long as you just look at it." She laughed at her own joke and I laughed with her. "You're not one of my regulars," she observed. "Just visiting for the day?"

"For a couple weeks," I replied. "I'm staying with my Grandmother." "And who might that be?" "Porlyusica Redfox." She stopped wiping a table a gazed at me with surprised. I readied myself for another strange Scarborough story, but as it turned out, I was the cause for amazement. "I didn't know she had a granddaughter." "And two grandsons," I said. "I mean in addition to Gajeel. I have two younger brothers." She straightened up. "Really! So you all must be Carolyn's children." "Carolyn and Kent Mcgarden." I worked hard to keep my voice from sounding brittle. It wasn't the woman's fault that Grandmother never mentioned us.

"Carolyn and Kent hooked up in college. I remember now. I just didn't know they had kids. Well, welcome. It's a pleasure to have you. Tell your folks Erza and Jellal say hi. Fernandes is the last name, though nobody calls me anything but Erza." She held out a damp hand and I shook it. "Back when they knew me, your mother used to call me titania because I was obsessed with swords and armor and anything that had to do with that. I always wanted to be a knight but then I married Jellal and he loved to bake so we decided to do this." She motioned her hand to the shop. "It's what Jellal does well." She added. "Really well," I agreed, sliding another bite of cheesecake into my mouth. "Who does the fortune-telling?"

"A good friend of my mother." She glanced toward the window. "I should get rid of that sign. She's getting too old. Of course she's always happy to do a reading for a local. How about it? I'm sure she would be interested to meet you," she added before I could refuse. "She's known the Scarboroughs all her life. When she was a teenager, she worked for them, even lived at the house for a while." "She did?" She would probably know if there was anything to Cana's story. "I'd love to have my fortune told." "I'll call upstairs and ask if she's free. We live right above here," she added, pointing to the stairway that ran up the side wall of the café. "Makes it an easy commute to work." I smiled. "Thanks."

After finishing the cheesecake, I walked over to the bakery case to buy some pastries for Mira and muffins for myself. I had just made my final selection when I heard Erza's voice behind me: "Here she is." I turned around. A small woman with dark brown hair was looking at me. She was about my Grandmother's age or older. "Mrs. Riley, this is Levy Mcgarden." "Hi, Mrs. Riley." She looked at me but didn't speak. "This is Mrs. Redfox's granddaughter," Erza added a moment later. "Carolyn and Kent's girl," she said, as if trying to nudge a response from her. But she just stared at me. The hair dye she used made her face look pale. The lines around her mouth were deep. "Hi," I said again, a little louder this time, in case she had trouble hearing. "It's nice to meet you."

I held out my hand. She didn't take it. "Mrs. Riley?" Erza seemed as puzzled as I. "This young lady wants her fortune told." She turned on me, her eyes blazing. "You were a fool to say I'd do it. I will not look into the cards for her." Then she stalked across the room and up the steps, moving quickly for an old woman. Erza's face turned the color of her hair. "I – I don't know what to say," she stammered. "I'm very sorry, Levy. She's not always agreeable, and hasn't been that well lately, but I didn't expect this." "Don't worry about it," I assured her. "She's probably just tired. I'll come back another time." She nodded, but still seemed concerned, whether for her feeling or mine, I wasn't sure. "Really," I said, "it's no big deal." I paid for my purchases and left, feeling like that woman in mythology – the one who had snakes for hair – Medusa. One look at me, and some people turned to stone.

Grandmother gave me permission to eat with Mira that evening. We locked up the shop about six thirty and went out to dinner. During the meal, Mira asked if I'd be interested in filling in for her sick employee starting Monday. I jumped at the chance. I loved all the activity of High Street and was relieved that someone wanted me around. By the time I got home that evening, Gajeel had left for a school dance. I joined Grandmother in the library, eager to tell her what and who I had seen in town. But she responded so negatively to the first things I told her, I gave up well before I got to the strange Mrs. Riley.

I crawled into bed that night exhausted. Even so, I tossed and turned. The tall clock on the stair landing chimed every quarter hour, telling me the amount of rest I didn't get. A cold front was passing through. It rattled shutters and windowpanes and sent wind diving down the house's chimneys. My bedroom door shook so hard it sounded as if someone was trying to get in. I got up and latched it firmly. Finally I drifted into sleep. It was sometime later, when the rough weather had settled down to an eerie silence, that I had became aware of my surroundings. The voice awakened me. "My name is Avril." My eyes flew open and I glanced around the room. The whisper lacked the warmth of a human voice. I wasn't sure if it was inside my head or out. I lay still as possible, listening, my skin prickling. "My name is Avril." I sat up and pulled the quilt around me. My skin felt as if it were crawling off my bones. "Who's there?"

Silence.

I gazed at the bedroom door, waiting for something to happen, the knob to turn, the whisperer to whisper again. My breath felt trapped inside my chest, my heart pounding in my ears. You've got a choice, I told myself. You can cower here for the rest of the night, or you can prove that it was nothing but a voice in a dream, your imagination playing tricks. I climbed out of bed, then tiptoed to the door. Taking a deep breath, I cracked it slowly, then yanked it wide open. No one. Nothing. Just the _tick tock tick_ of the big clock. I walked quietly into the hall. The clock's white face showed a few minutes after one. Gajeel's door was closed, as was Grandmothers – which didn't mean they were actually in their rooms. With the house's interconnecting chimneys and old heating system, it would be easy enough to whisper something downstairs so it could be heard upstairs. Was Gajeel having a little fun with me?

I walked quickly toward the hall window to check for his Jeep; he was home. Still, playing ghost seemed like too much trouble for him. Till now, his way of dealing with me was to ignore me and hope I went away. I listened for a moment by the door of his room, straining for some hint that he was awake. There was no sound but that of the clock. Giving up, I headed back to my room. As I passed the hall mirror, I glanced at it, then froze. There, in the antique glass, I saw her, more light than substance, a changing wisp of fog, the shape of a girl. I stared at the mist in the mirror, struggling to understand what I was seeing. Avril? I felt icy cold all over.

I ran for my room and pulled the door closed behind me. It didn't catch. When I reached my bed, I heard the door swing open again, but I was too afraid to look back. Hands shaking, I pulled down my quilt in a rush to get in bed, then gasped with disbelief. She was there! She was lying there in front of me! No, it was _me _I was looking down on. And I was dead! I squeezed shut my eyes and put my hands over my mouth, barely muffling screams that echoed deep within me. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed, warm and safe beneath my quilt. It was a dream, I told myself, just a scary dream. Then I turned my head on the pillow and saw the door I latched earlier standing wide open.

_Well that's the end… so I kinda wanted to use Cana as the fortune teller but the thing is that I didn't want to make her super old and for other reasons I cannot tell you yet (you will find out)._ _Also, i was debating if it was a good idea to have Jellal and Erza married... but i love them and i wanted them to be!__ ANYWAY, this was an interesting chapter. I hoped you liked it! PLEASE REVIEW, I LOVE IT WHEN YOU DO, EVEN IF YOU SAY MY STORY IS BAD! I WANT YOUR OPINION!_


	6. Chapter 6

_To be honest, that last chapter freaked me out O.o especially when my room is in the basement and I have to be alone in the dark! Eek! *ehem* anyways thanks for reviewing guys :D you always put a smile on my face! Alright, lets start the story *evil laughter*_

As soon as I emerged from bed Sunday morning, I felt the draft, a river of icy air flowing between the fireplace and entrance to my room. I hurried across the chilly floorboards to close the door. Memories of last night washed over me. It was just a dream, I told myself – the whisper, the ghost in the mirror – they were nothing more than a nightmare seeded by what a customer had said. As for the door being open, old houses were airtight; it wasn't surprising after a windy night. I dressed quickly, glad my mother had made me pack a long-sleeved turtleneck and sweater. When I arrived in the kitchen, neither Grandmother nor Gajeel was around. I made a steaming cup of tea and took it out to the kitchen garden.

The river mist was suffused with early-morning sunlight. In the garden every dew-drenched leaf, from the flat needles of rosemary to the smallest teardrops of thyme, shimmered. I walked to the picket fence that edged the garden, stopping at the gate, gazing toward the family cemetery. From a distance the rosses looked like soft pink and white smudges against the brick wall. I thought of the voice from last night. Was it possible – had the girl buried there come up to the house? I shivered. "Need another sweater?" I hadn't heard Gajeel approach. "No, thanks." "You look cold." He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with his jeans. I'd turn into an iceberg before admitting to him I had goose bumps beneath my sweater. "I'm not."

"How did you sleep last night?" he asked. "Fine. Great." I could see it in his eyes: he didn't believe me. "Why wouldn't I?" I asked. He shrugged. "If you're not used to an old house, it can be a spooky kind of place when the wind kicks up." He studied my face, and I, in turn, studied his. "Guess I'm a solid sleeper," I said. "How about you?" "I'm a light sleeper. I hear just about everything." _Like a girl's muffled scream? _I wondered. I took a sip of tea. "So did you have a good time last night?" I asked. "I mean at the dance, not afterward." I watched him over the rim of my cup. But if he had been up to something afterward, like whispering in a ghostly voice, he didn't show it. "No, I've always hated school dances."

"Then why did you go?" "Everyone expects you to," he replied matter-of-factly. "Do you always do what others expect?" One side of his mouth pulled up in that smirky smile of his. "Not always." "You're right about that. Most people would expect you to be friendly to a cousin you'd just met, or at least polite to a house guest." He glanced away. "Listen, Gajeel, I didn't want to come here." "Then why did you?" "Grandmother asked me to," I replied. "Do you always do what others ask?" "Not always," I said, giving him the same smirk he had given me moments ago. "My dad talked me into it. And I'm not brownnosing Grandmother – I'm not here for her money, if that's what you're worried about. Dad's hoping I can heal things between Grandmother and Mom. I think he's wrong, but, as it turns out, I'm glad to be here."

Gajeel remained silent. "I believe in making the best of a situation," I added. "Why do you keep trying to make the worst of it?" He didn't reply, just stared down at my face as if he were searching for something. "Too bad you have such beautiful eyes." Seeing him blink, I realized I had said that aloud. "You have no problem speaking your mind," he replied, those eyes now bright with amusement. I turned away from him. "Grandmother's standing in the window, waiting for us to come in, and looking annoyed." I headed toward the porch and Gajeel followed. "Good morning Grandmother," I greeted her as we entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Levy. Gajeel, you're up early for Sunday. I heard you come in before midnight last night. Were you ill?" "No." "Well for once, you can get a good start on your studying," she remarked. He nodded, strode over to the kitchen cupboard, and got out a glass. She turned to me. "Levy, your mother has written that you're an honor student. Perhaps you could help Gajeel."

I saw Gajeel's hand tighten around the glass and I shook my head. "No, he's a year ahead of me." "But you're taking Advanced Placement courses and getting straight A's," Grandmother insisted. I looked at her, surprised. Apparently she had more contact with my mother than I'd realized. "Gajeel, most definitely, is not getting A's or even B's," she went on. Why was she comparing us? I doubted it was grandmotherly pride in my achievements. "He's never been a good student," she continued. Gajeel poured juice in a glass, his face expressionless. "Perhaps you can motivate him," Grandmother added. This wasn't about motivations, it was a comparison aimed at making him dislike me even more than he already did. "Thanks for letting me have dinner with Mirajane," I said, deliberately changing the subject.

Grandmother nodded and began eating her banana. "She was impressed with the way you handled customers. Gajeel, did you hear that Levy was offered a job?" He kept his back to us and returned the carton of juice to the refrigerator. "I saw her working yesterday. Did you know, she was asked to continue?" "That's nice," he replied. "I have wanted Gajeel to get a job since last spring." "Well," I said lightly, "I can't really see him selling purses and lace handkerchiefs." She didn't smile and wasn't diverted from her goal. "He claims he has enough to handle with athletics and school, and of course his social life. I suppose it's my fault for continuing to give him money." I wasn't getting into that. And I wasn't going to allow her to play me against him. "Anyone want a muffin?" I asked, retrieving the bag from the counter where I had left it last night. "They're from Tea Leaves."

Gajeel didn't reply. Grandmother glanced at the bag, then lapsed into silence, sipping her coffee. Had she said her piece, or was she resting before unloading another round of antagonizing comments? She washed her dishes, then walked over to the shelf where I had seen her put the Bible the day before. "Where is it?" she asked, turning quickly to us. "Where's what?" Gajeel asked casually and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. "My Bible." "It's not on the shelf?" He craned his neck to look around her. Her eyes bore down on me. "Which one of you has taken it?" "I haven't touched it, Grandmother," I said, surprised by her accusatory tone. "And you know I never do," Gajeel added. "Someone moved it. I put it here last night. It's always here," she insisted. "Maybe you carried it into another room," I suggested. "I did not. I know what I've done and what I haven't."

"But everybody misplaces things," I reasoned with her. "I'll look in the library." It was an excuse to get away as much as a desire to help. She seemed bent on raising a fuss this morning, and I didn't want any part of it. I checked her desk first, then the tabletops and mantel. Gajeel came in and began searching more thoroughly, beneath tables and chairs, under a pile of magazines. I returned to the desk and tried to open the drawers, the ones he'd been looking through Friday night. "They're locked," he said. "Where's the key?" "I don't know," he replied. "Some things Grandmother tells no one." _Except you, _I thought. "The Bible wouldn't be there anyway," he added. "How would you know, if the desk is locked?" His eyes met mine steadily. "I've seen the drawers open when she's working. They're full of junk. There's no room for anything else." He turned to survey the shelves of books. "Are you sure you didn't borrow it or put it away for her?" "I'm sure."

His eyes continued to travel over the volumes of books. "If she put it on one of these shelves, we'll be lucky to find it." He was acting as if we had a major problem on our hands. "It'll show up sooner or later," I said. "And if it doesn't, she can buy a new one – it's still in print." He didn't smile. "You look in the music room, I'll search the parlor." I checked the room thoroughly; nothing but dust had settled there for a long time. I returned to the kitchen, figuring that Grandmother had found the book or decided it was not important. She spun around when she heard me enter. "It is a sin to steal." "I know, Grandmother. The Ten Commandments are posted in my bedroom." She glared at me, then started pacing back and forth.

"We'll find it," I assured her. "Meanwhile, it's Sunday. Is there a church service you like in town? I'd be glad to go with –" "I don't go to church," she replied shortly. "I refuse to sit among the town hypocrites. As for the ministers these days, they can't tell right from wrong." Gajeel returned. "Should I check your bedroom, Grandmother?" "You should check _Levy's _room," she replied. I open my mouth to protest. Her suspicion was insulting. But if a search put me in the clear – "Oh, what the heck, check it," I said. All three of us climbed the stairs. Gajeel searched my room, taking too long I thought. Grandmother checked his room. I offered to search hers but was met with a look that could shear steel. I sat on the top step stewing, then got up and walked in circles. When I passed in front of then hall's antique mirror, I saw myself looking angry and on edge.

The two of them returned, empty handed. "Someone will be punished for this," Grandmother declared. She sounded absurdly serious. "Maybe the ghost took it," I suggested. "We don't have a ghost, Levy. I don't want to hear that kind of nonsense from you." I was feeling defiant. "Someone named Cana, who used to work here, told me she saw it." "Cana Albarn is a liar." "She said the ghost's name was Avril." The pupils of Grandmother's eyes were jet black inside their dark red rims. Gajeel shook his head, signaling me to keep quiet. "On my walk Friday I visited the family cemetery and saw Avril's stone. She died young." "She was the same age as you." Grandmother replied. "And just as sassy." "How did she die?"

Grandmother looked at me for a long moment, the pupils of her eyes unsteady. "You heartless, rude girl, asking me something like that. You're not part of the family. Why would I tell you?" "So when people say things, like she was murdered, I know how to correct them." She turned abruptly, strode into her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. There was a moment of quiet, then I heard her lock the door. I looked at my cousin, hoping he could give me a reasonable explanation for her extreme behavior. "Good job," he said. "Next time you set her off, do it on a day I'm out of the house." "She's already off," I replied in a hushed voice. "Yea, well, if you don't want her over the edge, you'll drop the ghost stuff." "She overreacts to things," I argued. "And you wont mention Avril again." "Why?" I asked, following him downstairs. I caught his arm at the landing. "Tell me why."

"It upsets Grandmother. Avril was her sister and they were very close." "_Sixty _years ago. She can't still be mourning her. Gajeel, is Grandmother losing it? Mentally, I mean." He started down the steps again, ignoring the question. I caught up with him a second time. "Why do you protect her? When she goes after you, why don't you fight back?" "There are a lot of things you don't understand." "No kidding, how about you explain them to me?" He was silent. "Couldn't you see what she was doing with that stuff about grades and jobs? She's trying to turn you against me. I don't know why, since you already don't like me. But she's making sure of it. What's eating her?"

For a moment the mask slipped from his face. I could see the uncertainty in him. "Gajeel," I said, taking a step forward. He jerked away from me, picked up his Jeep keys from the hall table, and strolled toward the door. "What are you thinking?" I called after him. "What?" He didn't glance back, didn't break stride. You should never have come," he said, then left.

_Wooooww two chapters in one day, I deserve a pat on the back. lol jk. Well man, this was kinda intense for me. I really liked that moment with Gajeel and Levy when they were outside, I thought it was adorable! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! HOPE YOU LIKE THIS SO FAR! HAVE A NICE DAY!_


	7. Chapter 7

_WELCOME BACK! well, finals are tomorrow and for the rest of the week so I probably wont be updating for a while. I'll try to update as fast as I can but this might be the last one for like a week or so. Hope you guys don't mind! _

Grandmother emerged from her room at ten o'clock that morning, no longer obsessed with finding the Bible. She was unhappy because Gajeel had left the house on his study day, but he knew how to get on her good side, returning with the newspaper. Her fingers smoothed the newspaper with the same pleasure that some woman show when touching silk. Anyone peeking in the library door right then would have thought she was a perfectly normal grandmother. "Are you calling you mother today?" she asked me. "I was thinking about emailing my parents. Do you have a computer?" "Gajeel has one in his room. You may use that." "Is that alright with you, Gajeel?" Grandmother replied before he did. "I gave him the computer. It is alright with me." Still, I waited for my cousin's response. "It's on," he said, which I took as permission and headed upstairs.

Gajeel's room was neater than I thought it would be, with just a few pretzels crunched into the rug and a small pile of clothes thrown onto a chair. Two pictures sat on the shelf above his desk. In one several lacrosse players wearing helmets and holding sticks grinned back at the camera. I thought Gajeel was the player at the end. The second photo was of a little boy, a big dog, and a black cat with a scar near its eye. I knew by the eyes that the child was Gajeel, but the sweetness of his expression surprised me. His arms were wrapped so lovingly around the dog, a golden retriever that looked old and patient, and his cat sat on top of his head. I got a lump in my throat.

I finally sat down, pulled up my email account, and began to type. I had decided writing would be better than calling because I could choose what to say and what to leave out. There was no point in upsetting my mother by telling her about Grandmother's eccentric behavior. And I didn't want to be overheard when I asked about Aunt Avril and the dollhouse. I was finishing the email when I heard voices in the hall. Gajeel entered the room with his friend Natsu. "Almost done?" he asked. "Just signing off," I told him. Natsu dropped down in the chair next to the desk. "Hi, Levy. I was hoping you'd be here." I smiled. "Hi! Gajeel didn't tell me you were coming over." Natsu stretched his long legs out in front of him. "You must have figured out by now that if you want to know anything, you have to pry it out of Gajeel."

My cousin, standing behind Natsu's chair, grimaced slightly. "We study together every Sunday," Natsu added. "Want to hang out with us?" "No," Gajeel said. Natsu glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "I wasn't asking you." "Even so –," Gajeel began. I interrupted: "You must have figured out by now, I'm not one of Gajeel's favorite people." "Yea?" Natsu replied, his dark onyx eyes sparkling. "Why?" I shrugged. "Let me know if he tells you first." Gajeel stood silently, glaring. "Don't worry about it," Natsu said. "Sometimes he's just strange. I laughed. Gajeel shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Are you a lacrosse player too?" I asked Natsu, pointing to the photograph. "Are you one of those guys in a helmet?" "I play lacrosse, but that's not our team." Natsu turned to look at my cousin, waiting for him to explain the photo. "Did you forget how to talk, Gajeel?" "That's my team at Phantom Lord," Gajeel said, "the school I went to before coming here." When he fell silent, Natsu continued. "That school were real jackasses to us, him included. When he first came here, we didn't exactly trust him but eventually he warmed up. He is part of the most awesomest team ever!" "Wow," I said, astonished. One side of Gajeel's mouth drew up.

There was no arguing my sincerity. "Were those your pets, Gajeel?" I asked, pointing to the other photo. "Yes." "What was the cat name?" "Pantherlily, but I called him Lily for short." I nodded my head. "What about the dog?" "Homer." "Homer?" I repeated. "You named him after the Greek writer? The guy who wrote the _Iliad?_" Natsu threw back his head and laughed. "Yea, and Lily's real name was Shakespeare." I saw the pink creeping up Gajeel's neck. "Not exactly," he said. "When I found him, he was hungry and hurt and looked like he needed a home. So I called him Homer." I felt that strange little lump in my throat again. I carefully took the photo from the shelf and studied it. In grade school I had one special cat who heard all of my secrets and sorrows. This dog and cat probably listened to a few as well, especially with his mom dying when he was a little boy.

"There's a lot of chatter in here, and it doesn't sound like schoolwork." The three of us looked toward the door, where Grandmother stood. "Then you must not have been listening real hard," Natsu told her. "We were just talking about the famous Greek writer, Homer." "I believe that, and you'll tell me another one," Grandmother replied. "I heard someone mention Shakespeare," he added. "Save the lines for your girlfriends, Natsu." To my amazement, she was smiling. He grinned at her. "My father said to tell you he's still hoping you'll change your mind and let him interview you for his Magnolia history." "Your father will be hoping till Doomsday, at which point no one will be interested." Natsu laughed. "He wants one of the professors in his department to have a look at the old mill."

"I don't know why your father persists in thinking of me as anything but a grouchy old woman, who means no when she says no." "It's the newspapers," Natsu replied. "You're the only person in town who reads as many newspapers and magazines as he does. No matter what I tell him about you, he's convinced you're not all bad." Grandmother clucked. She liked this teasing, I realized. In some ways she was like me, always ready with a comeback, enjoying the give and take. _Except _she didn't enjoy it with me. "It's time to get to work," she said, her voice turning prim, like a girl who's decided her flirting had gone on too long. "I want to hear lessons," she said as she exited the room. Gajeel tossed several notebooks on his desk.

"Golden retrievers are terrific dogs," I remarked, looking again at the picture in my hands. "How long did you have him?" "Two years." "What happened?" "When we moved out, I had to get rid of him. Luckily I was allowed to keep Lily but then eventually I had to get rid of him too." First his mom dies, then his step mom and dad separate, then he had to get rid of his pets? "That's terrible! They were yours." "It was no big deal," he replied, shrugging it off. "Faker," I said softly. I saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes, then he reached for the picture. "We should put this back." He set it gently on the shelf. "Well, thanks for the use of your computer." "Sure." His voice was quieter than usual. "Hope I'll see you around, Levy," Natsu said. "Yea, me too," I replied, pretty certain I wouldn't, not if he hung out with Gajeel.

"When do you turn on the heat?" I asked, soaking my hands in the hot dishwater, wishing the rest of me felt as warm. I had taken a walk before dinner and come back chilled. The cold fried chicken and potato salad hadn't warmed me up any. "November," Gajeel answered, "if we're lucky. It's a big house to heat and Grandmother watches her money." I didn't complain further, not wanting to seem like a wimp. But having left behind ninety-degree days, I was freezing when the temperature plummeted to the low fifties. The dampness here added a raw edge that went right through my bones. Drying my hands, I went upstairs to put on a heavy sweater, then joined Grandmother in the library for an evening of reading the newspaper. A few minutes later, Gajeel came in carrying several logs. "What are you doing?" Grandmother asked him. "Building a fire."

She studied him for a moment, then looked at me with my turtleneck yanked up to my ears and my sweater sleeves down to my knuckles. "How thoughtful." The sarcasm in her voice made me reluctant to thank Gajeel in front of her. Besides, Grandmother was wearing a thick sweater too; maybe he was doing this for her too. Gajeel built the fire, arranging the logs and stacking the kindling in a quiet, methodical way. He had rolled up his sleeves so I could see the muscles in his forearms. His hands were large, with the wide palms and long, strong fingers of an athlete. I wondered what it would be like to hold hands with him, then quickly squashed that thought.

He struck a match. As soon as it was dropped on the crumpled newspaper, I was down on the floor, close to the hearth. He dropped in another match. A piece if newspaper flared up, then collapsed quickly into ash. Small sticks caught on fire and made crackling noises. Big sticks burned and the outside of a heavy log began to char. Gajeel turned to me. "If you keep sighing like that, you're going to blow out the fire." I covered my mouth with my hand. A smile touched the corners of his lips. "I love fires," I said. "No kidding." Maybe it was the hissing log that made his words seemed softer. I suddenly became award of Grandmother observing us with a sour look on her face. I sat back quickly and spread the newspaper on the bricks in front of me, then lay on my stomach and began to read. The golden light flickered over the paper. I could feel its warmth on my face.

Gajeel found the sports page and lay on his stomach about a foot away from me. I didn't look back at Grandmother, figuring we would have heard if she had any objections to our reading on the floor. I was more relaxed than I'd been since leaving home. Soon the print in front of me got blurry and my head felt too heavy to hold up. I don't know how long I slept, probably just a few minutes. The sound of a shifting log awakened me. When I opened my eyes, I saw Gajeel had stopped reading. His face was turned toward me, his eyes, like dark embers, watching me. _Look away, _I thought. _Turn away now before it's too late. _But I couldn't. Gazing back into his eyes, I felt something stir inside me, some feeling so deep, so secret; my own heart couldn't whisper the words to me. Grandmother coughed and Gajeel and I glanced aside at the same time. I sat up and moved over two feet, so I could sit with my back against a chair. Gajeel poked at the fire. That's when I noticed it, above Gajeel's shoulder, on a shelf to the left of the mantel.

"Grandmother, look. Your Bible." She glanced at me, then her head jerked in the direction that I pointed. Her mouth opened with surprise. She sat still in her chair as if she couldn't believe she was seeing it. I scrambled to my feet, retrieved the Bible, and carried it over to her. When she didn't take it from my hands, I laid it on her lap. "Which one of you children put it there?" she demanded. Gajeel and I looked at each other. "Neither," I said after a moment. "Liar!" I stepped back. Gajeel got a guarded look on his face. Grandmother started paging through the heavy book, then looked up at the gap on the shelf where the Bible had been. "Put something there, Gajeel. Now!" she cried. "Put it _there_!" Gajeel picked up several magazines and stuffed them in the space. "Are you all right?"

Her hands were shaking badly. "I'm looking for Corinthians," she said. "Can I help?" I asked. "_You _stay away" I retreated to a chair. "I have it," she said, and began to read Paul's famous passage about charity – what is love and isn't. Her voice quivered when she read how all things but love would pass away. Gajeel stood close to her, his face lined with concern. Despite what he had said before, he must've been worried about her state of mind. It was her intensity, the anger and suspicion with which she spoke, more than what she said, that was frightening. **[A/N: she's about to be a real bitch right now. Fair warning]**

She looked up suddenly. "Finish it, Gajeel. Versus eleven and twelve."

"Why don't we finish it later?" he suggested quietly.

"I want to hear it now."

"You know I don't like to read aloud."

"Read it!" She shoved the book in his hands.

He hesitated, then took a deep breath and carried the Bible to her desk. Sitting down in front of the book, he focused on the page for a few moments, marking the place with his finger. "When I was a … a child," he began, "I … played –"

"_Spake!" _she corrected him.

"I spake as a ch-child, I … understand –"

"_Understood._"

"I understood as a child." His face was tense with concentration. "I tough as –"

"_Thought!_"

"I thought as … a child."

I listened with disbelief. Gajeel could barely read.

"But where I because a name –"

"_But when I became a man,_" Grandmother said in a low, ugly voice.

He nodded and swallowed. "I … put … away childish thoughts."

"_Things. _Give it to me Gajeel."

"You wanted me to read," he said, his jaw clenched. "I'm going to finish it."

I closed my eyes, wishing I weren't there.

"For no, we see … uh –"

"Through a glass darkly," I said softly.

"For now we see through a glass darkly; but the – but then … fa-face to face; No I now –" he shook his head and started again. "–Now I know in part; but there – then shall I now – know – ever as also I am known."

**[A/N: I just did it ^ that way so it was easier to read]**

The passage was finally over. Gajeel looked grim and humiliated; I knew anything I said would make it worse for him. Anger simmered inside me. I didn't know what made Grandmother act the way she did. It was as if certain things could turn on a switch in her and make her cold and mean. What dark, distorted glass did she look through when she got this way? I couldn't begin to guess. Only one thing was clear to me: Gajeel was dyslexic and Grandmother was trying desperately to shame him in front of me.

_Oh my gosh, anybody hate the grandmother right now? I know I do, geez that was mean. Anyways, sorry to leave on such a sour note but like I said, I'll update when I can, and who knows, maybe I'll actually be able to update like how I normally been updating. PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR. HAVE A NICE DAY!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey guys, I'm back! whew midterms are over and now I can continue on with my story! THANKS TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEVED MY STORY! NOW LETS CONTINUE ON WITH THIS ADVENTURE!_

I awoke Monday morning just as the sky was getting bright. I knew I was at Grandmother's house, but something was different about the pale gray light. It reflected off a ceiling that was too close. My eyes traveled down to the walls. Faded roses, huge as headlights, surrounded me. I wasn't in my room. I sat up quickly and realized the surface beneath me was hard. I'd been sleeping on the floor of a small room that was wallpapered in roses. I scrambled to my feet and went to a window. Below me was the herb garden and the long tin roof covered the kitchen porch. I was in the back wing, in the room next to the dollhouse. The closed door to my right must have led to that room. Opposite from it was an open door that revealed five steps, which rose to the second floor hall of the main house. I walked slowly around the empty room, trying to remember how I had gotten here. I couldn't recall waking up and moving. Was I sleepwalking? I had done it once or twice as a kid.

I struggled to remember last night's dreams, hoping for some clue as to why I had left my room. All I could remember was something round, a circle with bumps or marks on its circumference. I wondered who had used this room and for what. Perhaps it was a housekeeper's or maid's room. Then I recalled what Cana said, the customer at Fairy Tail, had said. "I've seen the ghost. In the rear wing, in the room above the kitchen." The skin at the back of my neck prickled. Avril? I mouthed her name, afraid to say it aloud, as if I had the power to summon her. Had she been here last night? Had I followed her? "Get a grip, Levy," I muttered. Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I tiptoed back to my room. I didn't know what unnerved me more: the possibility that Avril was real, or the fact that I could do something and have absolutely no memory of it.

The second time I awoke it was after eight o'clock, and Gajeel had already left for school. In the bright light the objects in my room – my hairbrush, the romantic paperback, the sweatshirt I'd left draped over a chair – seemed startlingly normal. I got up and began to brush my hair, standing in a swatch of sunlight, hoping it would melt away my uncertainty and fear. Everyone has nightmares, I told myself. As for the change in rooms, I had been sleepwalking. Arriving downstairs, I found Grandmother pacing. When I greeted her in the hall, she jumped. "Is everything ok?" I asked. "My clock is missing." I sighed. "Which clock, Grandmother?" She looked at me as if I should know. "The antique that sat on my desk in the library." "You mean the little gold one, the one with a picture painted on its face?"

"Where did you put it?" she demanded as if I'd just admitted guilt. Indignation flared up in me. But I had moved myself without realizing it; how could I be sure I hadn't moved a clock? And the fragment in me dream, a circle with marks on it – wasn't that like the face of a clock? "I don't remember putting it anywhere," I told her honestly. "Have you asked Gajeel?" "No, of course not. I can't trust him anymore." "Why not?" I asked, walking over to the library door, scanning the shelves and tabletops. "He has other loyalties now." She said the words slowly, as if they held great meaning. I moved across the hall to the dining room, my eyes sweeping that room – side tables, windowsills, mantel – any ledge that could support a small clock. "Grandmother, it's obvious that he loves you and wants to help you however he can. Though I don't know why, when you're so mean to him."

I walked down the hall and looked in the front parlor. "You were awful last night," I went on. "Gajeel has a learning disability. It had nothing to do with intelligence, but it makes school hard. You had no right to embarrass him the way you did." Grandmother raised her head, like a cat picking up a new scent. "Well, now, instead of going after Gajeel with that smart little mouth of yours, you're defending him." "I can do both." "Have you become friends? I believe you have," she said before I could answer. "You're working together, aren't you? He's siding with you now." I shook my head in amazement and passed her in the hall, crossing over to the music room. "You two are playing tricks on me!" I sighed. "No Grandmother, we are not." "Where is the clock?" she asked me. My eyes surveyed the room one more time. "I have no idea."

Fortunately, I had agreed to work for Mira from ten to three that day and could get away from the house for a while. I didn't mention to her the strange things that had been happening, afraid that she might call my mother or insist I stay with her. I was spooked, but determined to figure out what was going on, which meant I had to stay at the house. Before I knew it, it was three fifteen and Mira was shooing me out of her store. I walked up High Street and had just passed Tea Leaves, when I heard a girl's voice calling to me. "Levy. Hey, Levy. Up here!" From a second-story window in the next building, Lucy's ponytail dangled like a golden flag. "I want to ask you something. Can you come up?" "Sure," I replied. "Is this where you live?" Lucy laughed and I stepped back to look at the brick building.

"It's a B and B, bed and breakfast," Lucy explained. "Auntie cleans it and I help out after school. Door's open." I entered the front hall and climbed the carpeted steps, following the sound of a vacuum cleaner. When I arrived on the second floor, the machine shut off and Lucy stuck her head out a door. "The weekenders are gone," she said. "Auntie's down washing sheets and towels. Come on in." The room she was cleaning was homey, with red and white wallpaper, a canopy bed, and chairs pulled close to a fireplace. "I looked for you at the dance Saturday night," Lucy said. I figured she had invited me up to ask about my cousin. "I'd like to have gone, but Gajeel doesn't want me hanging around his friends. Like I said before, there's really not much I can tell you about him."

"Her," Lucy corrected me. "Excuse me?" "It's a _her_ I want to ask about." She shook out a clean bottom sheet. "Avril Scarborough. Do you know her?" She watched my face and waited for my response. "You mean the ghost?" "Have you seen her?" she asked. I walked to the other side of the double bed, caught the edge of the sheet, and slipped it over two corners of the mattress. "Have you?" "I asked you first." She said, then laughed. "Once I did." My eyes widen. "When? Where?" "Back in sixth grade," she replied, tugging down her corners and smoothing the sheet. "I was still hanging out with Minerva then and she had a sleepover. We paid her older sister to drive us to Scarborough House at four in the morning. Avril usually shows up just before dawn in the back wing." My breath caught. Then I reminded myself that people would expect to see a ghost in an abandoned part of a house, and people saw what the expected. I had seen what I expected after hearing Cana's story.

"It was a bust," Lucy continued. "Everybody got tired and whiney. Minerva's sister got mad, piled us back in the car, and headed toward town again." "So when did you see her?" "That same night, when we were crossing the bridge." Lucy shook our a top sheet. We worked together to slip it under the lower end of the mattress and pull it up evenly. "How do you know what you saw?" I asked. "How do you know it was Avril, or even a she?" Lucy tossed me a pillow, then thought for a moment. "I guess there was something about the shape. It was thin and moved in a graceful kind of way. She seemed more like a girl then a woman." "Did anybody else see her that night?" I questioned. "Nobody. I got teased a lot," Lucy added, then shrugged. "I've always seen things other people don't, now I just don't tell anyone." We pulled the spread up over the pillows. "I guess you know how that is."

"What do you mean?" "You're psychic, aren't you?" she asked. "Me? No!" Lucy's wide brown eyes studied me. "I was sure you were. I felt a connection." I frowned and saw the color deepen in her cheeks. She picked up her tray of cleaning supplies and reached for the vacuum. "I've got another room to do." I followed her across the hall to a room that had different wallpaper but a similar arrangement of bed and furniture. Lucy snatched up a feather duster and began whisking it over frames and mirrors. She didn't look at me. "I would have never said anything," she explained, talking a little too fast, "except I thought you were like me. That's why I hoped you had seen the ghost. Psychics seem to attract other forms of spiritual energy – they're like magnets to ghosts. And – well, that's all," she said. I caught her peeking at me.

"Are you sure you're not." She asked. "You've never been aware of things that other people aren't? You've never had an experience you can't explain?" "No," I lied. She shook her head. "I read you wrong." "Except," I said, "some, uh, weird dreams." She looked at me. "Miss Lydia says that dreams are shadows cast by truth shinning on our darkest secrets." "Well, mine aren't all that mysterious," I replied. "I can explain them – most of them." I told Lucy about my childhood visits to a house that looked like Grandmother's and my recent dream of the dollhouse, along with my theories about seeing photos of Mom with the miniature house. "You could be right," Lucy said, sounding, unconvinced. "You have a better explanation?"

"You could be psychic – telepathic. When you were little, your mom was watching you play and thinking about herself as a kid at home. You picked up the images and made them your own." I shook my head. "I like my theory better." "Ok by me," Lucy said agreeably. She lifted a sheet from a pile on a chair, and we went to work making the bed. "Who's Miss Lydia?" I asked. "The old lady the couple next door look after. Jellal and Erza that is." "Oh!" I remembered her refusing to see me. "When I was little," Lucy went on, "and Dad was working here, I'd go to Tea Leaves for my after-school snack. Miss Lydia liked me and talked to me a lot." "She sure doesn't like me," I said, then told Lucy about my introduction to the woman.

"Don't be offended," Lucy advised. "Miss Lydia doesn't trust many people. A couple of years ago she got in trouble for selling her herbal remedies at the Queen Victoria, the hotel across the street. Guests complained. A woman said she got sick, but that can happen with herbal stuff, just like it does with a prescription from a doctor. Anyway, now Miss Lydia only deals with local and keeps thinking guys from the FBI are coming after her." "If she's psychic, wouldn't she know they aren't?" Lucy didn't laugh and didn't get annoyed. "No. Just because you're psychic doesn't mean you can see clearly. Sometimes the more you see, the more confusing it is. Images overlap and it's hard to sort them out." We finished making the bed in silence. Lucy kept her head down as if she were deep in thought. When she looked up, her eyes were bright. "How about an O.B.E? Out-of-body experience? Some people do that, you know. Their spirit breaks free of their body and travels around. Maybe you were curious about your grandmother and came to see her as a child."

"Without my body?" I looked at Lucy like she was crazy. "Well, yes and no," she replied. "Your body would be back where you left it. But if your grandmother were psychically aware, she'd have seen an apparition of you that looked like your body." I kept quiet. "I'm making you uncomfortable," Lucy observed. She stuck the vacuum cleaner plug in a wall socket. "This is all I have left to do. Thanks for stopping by." She waited for me to leave, her finger on the trigger of the machine. "Have you seen _Sheer Blue_?" I asked. "The movie?" she replied. "No." "Want to go?" She looked surprised, then smiled. "Didn't scare you away, huh?" A smile crept on my face. "Not yet." "How about Thursday night?" she suggested. "We're off school Friday." I nodded. "Great." The vacuum roared to life and I left. As I walked up High Street, thoughts flooded my brain.

I wondered to myself what secrets were casting shadows long enough to reach into my dreams.

_AND THAT'S THE END OF THIS CHAPTER! Oh man, it's soooo good to be back! I hope you guys liked this chapter and PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A COMMENT! HAVE A FANSTIC DAY!_


	9. Chapter 9

_ALRIGHT! IM EXCITED! This one is gonna be a fairly short chapter compared to the other ones though. ANYWAYS, ON WITH THE STORY!_

When I arrived home that afternoon, I found my grandmother sitting in the kitchen, idly watching her housekeeper fix dinner. Grandmother's skin was so pale it seemed translucent, her hands clasped but in constant motion, as if she couldn't keep them warm. "Are you ok?" I asked, quietly setting down my purse. "Has something happened, Grandmother?" She didn't reply. I glanced over at Nancy. "What's wrong?" "Don't know. She won't say," Nancy replied, then shoved a runny casserole into the oven. "I've tried all afternoon to get her to see a doctor. No use wasting your breath – she won't go. She's been spooky ever since I found that little clock." "You found the clock?" I asked, my mouth dry. "Now, don't _you _get funny on me."

"Where was it?" I asked. "On the hall table, behind the silk flowers." I pulled a chair up close to Grandmother and sat down. "How are you feeling?" "Fine." Worry bubbled in my chest. "You don't look it. I want to call your doctor." "I forbid you," she said. Nancy gave me an I-told-you-so look. "As you know, Grandmother, I don't always listen." She shot me a glare. "You may call, but I won't go." I stood up. "Gajeel will be home soon. He'll know what to do." Nancy shook her head. "He called and Mrs. Redfox told him he could stay at Natsu's." The woman sounded exasperated. "She could have told me earlier. All the time I put into that casserole and her with no appetite and you a vegetarian."

"I eat meat," I said. "Take it out when the buzzer goes off," Nancy went on. "You can dig around for the peas." I didn't correct her a second time, just waited for her to leave, hoping Grandmother would talk to me then. But as soon as Nancy was gone, Grandmother retreated to her room. I followed her upstairs and told her I would check on her in an hour. "You will not," she said, then closed the door. I heard the loud click. I ate alone in the kitchen that evening, glad to be away from the gory deer in the dining room. Afterward I went to the library to see the antique clock. I weighed it in my hands and ran my fingers over it cold metal surfaces, hoping they would remember what my mind did not: Was this the first time I'd held it? Could I have moved it before I went to the rose-papered bedroom? I set the clock down gently, knowing no more than I did before.

At ten o'clock Gajeel still hadn't come back from Natsu's. I found the number and called to tell Gajeel the situation. He said he'd check on Grandmother when he got home. I went to bed, leaving my bedroom door cracked, knowing I wouldn't sleep. Twenty minutes later Gajeel knocked soft on Grandmother's door, calling to her. The door creaked open. I slipped out of my bed and went to the entrance of my room. Though I couldn't make out Gajeel's words, I knew from his tone he was asking questions. Grandmother was upset and either forgot I was in the next room or didn't care. She spoke loudly. "I have brought it on myself, Gajeel." He quietly asked her something else. "I have brought it on myself!" she repeated, sounding frustrated. "Don't you understand? I'm being punished." "But there's nothing for you to be punished for," Gajeel replied, his voice growing as intense as hers.

"God has chosen her as his instrument," Grandmother insisted. "God hasn't chosen anything," he argued. "You were the one who invited Levy. Things are being misplaced, Grandmother, nothing more. It's all in your head." Her response was muffled with emotion. "Hush! Everything's going to be alright," he said. Then I heard him take a step inside the room. The door closed. Cut off from their conversation. I closed my own door and rested back against it. Their conference lasted a long time. Finally I heard Grandmother's door open and close again, then Gajeel's footsteps in the hall, heading in the direction of the stairway. He stopped at my door. I knew he was standing on the other side and I waited for him to knock. When I heard him walk away, I quickly opened the door. He turned around. "Is she going to be ok?" I asked. His mouth formed a grim line. "She's confused. If she doesn't get any better, I'm taking her to a doctor." "And you?" I saw how shaken he looked. "How are you doing?"

"You don't have to worry about me." "Do anyway." I replied. He looked away. I stepped into the hall. "Gajeel, why is she acting this way?" "You should never have come here, Levy." "Are you saying it's my fault?" I asked. "Are you? Please look at me." He did, and for a moment neither of us spoke. "Are you asking me to leave?" He took a deep breath. "It would be the best thing." "Ok, I'll consider it, but first tell me why she's upset. I want to know what's going one." He didn't reply. "Gajeel, I can't help if I don't understand the problem." Still, he said nothing. "So I guess you don't want my help." "I don't." I stepped back into my room and closed the door. The distance he kept between us no longer made me mad; it made me hurt.

We were playing a game, Gajeel and I. I was tiptoeing around an abandoned house – or maybe it was a barn. The walls and floors were made of rough wood, and the simple wooden stairs looked more like tilted ladders. We were playing hide-and-seek. It was twilight outside. Inside, it grew darker with each minute. I knew we should stop the game before it got too late, but I kept on. I could hear Gajeel walking on the floor above my head, searching for me. I quietly opened a trapdoor and descended the stairs that led to the basement. The air was cold and damp down there; it held darkness like a sponge. My eyes adjusted slowly to the bit of light that came from the doorway above. Suddenly I saw huge wheels, wheels with teeth, one wheel interlocking with the next, like the gears inside a clock. The largest was tall as I.

I heard a noise, a groan from the machinery. My eyes focused on the biggest wheel. It started to turn slowly, very slowly at first. The smaller wheels rotated with it. I had to stop them. I knew if I didn't, they'd turn faster and faster, shaking the old building till it flew apart. I grasped the huge teeth of the main wheel and pulled back, dragging it in the opposite direction. But as soon as I stopped pulling, the wheel moved forward again, turning more quickly. I gripped harder, my hands slippery with sweat. Still, each time I pulled back, the gigantic wheel made up those inches and moved even farther ahead, pulling me with it. I had to find another way to stop it. I tried to step back to study the wheel and discovered I couldn't move. I yanked my arm, struggling to pull it away, but the edge of my sweater sleeve was caught between the teeth of the big wheel and a smaller one.

The speed of the wheels was steadily increasing. I called for help, called for Gajeel. I writhed and pulled and but the threads of my sweater. At the last moment I slipped free from it. Run, I told myself. But I stood there, fascinated, watching the wheels consume my garment. Then I felt the pull. The powerful teeth had caught my hair. I was being dragged toward the center of the wheels. I screamed for Gajeel. I heard his footsteps cross the floor above me. I shouted his name over and over. Then I heard his footsteps fading and the door upstairs shut. He had left me. I struggled to free myself, fighting for each inch against the powerful wheels, dreading the teeth that would crush whatever came between them. I couldn't believe Gajeel had abandoned me. Then I thought, he knows what's happening. He started these wheels moving. That instant I was pulled into the darkness.

_Well then, that was a little creepy, don't ya think? On the bright side, TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE NIGHT! WHOA! YEA! Well I'm tired now, so until next chapter! OH WAIT, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS CHAPTER! HAVE A LOVELY DAY!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey guys, wassup? This story is getting interesting, don't ya think? Lol well lets continue on with it to see what happens!_

In the morning light last night's dream had lost its terror but not its power to disturb. I recognized the exaggerations of a nightmare – huge wheels, like gears inside a gigantic clock, waiting to grind me up – it was surreal. Even so, I felt a sense of foreboding. What truth lay behind the images? In the dream I had been drawn into something I had no control over, something I couldn't stop, and Gajeel had walked away. I dressed slowly, then went down to the kitchen. Gajeel was there, finishing a bowl of cereal. "How is Grandmother?" I asked. "_Where's _Grandmother?" Her Bible lay open on the table next to a half-drained cup of coffee. "In the music room," he said wearily. "Why?" I asked. "Don't you know?" he snapped. I bit back a sharp response. "Something else has been moved." "How did you know it was moved, rather than missing?" he asked, as if trying to trap me in my words.

"Ease up, Gajeel. When we thought the Bible and clock were missing, it turned out they were moved." He rubbed his head. He looked as if he's barely slept. "So what was it this time?" "Paintings. An old painting of the mill was moved from the parlor to the music room and hung above the Chinese chest. The watercolor that was there was left facedown on the floor." I sighed. "When did this happen?" He gave me a sharp look. "You tell me. You were here last night, alone in the house while she was up in bed." "Are you accusing me?" I asked. "I don't know what I'm doing," he mumbled. I intercepted him as he walked toward the refrigerator. "You have as much access to this house as I do, and know the place better. We can point fingers at each other and refuse to trust or we can try –" The kitchen door opened. Grandmother gazed at the two of us, her eyes narrowing. Gajeel and I stepped back from each other.

"I have put the watercolor where it belongs," she informed us. "I need help with the landscape." "I'll take care of it," I said. "You'll be late for school, Gajeel. Leave me the phone number of Grandmother's doctor," I added, when she exited. I followed her through the door and down the hall to the front parlor, where I helped her set the large painting back on its hook. "Is there anything else I can do?" I asked. "Haven't you done enough?" Grandmother replied sarcastically. I stared after her as she left the room. If I didn't get some answers soon, I was going to be as paranoid as she. I needed information, and there was only one person I knew who might have it.

I arrived at Tea Leaves an hour before work. "I don't want my fortune read," I said to Erza. "Tell Miss Lydia I have some questions about my grandmother's house and the family. Strange things are happening, and I need her advice." A few minutes later the door opened at the top of the stairs, and the old woman beckoned to me. Before I reached the entrance to the second-floor apartment, Mrs. Riley had disappeared around the corner. I closed the door behind me and followed her down a narrow hall that ran toward the front of the building. The room I entered had three windows, all of them facing High Street. Heavy drapes hung lopsided from their rods but were open enough to let in light. To the left were two sofas with faded print covers, and to the right an alcove, a square area between the front wall of the building and the wall of the stairwell. A round table and several straight-back chairs filled that space.

Mrs. Riley sat down at the table, facing into the room, and gestured to a seat across from her. I perched on it nervously, tucking my hands under my legs. "You have questions," she said. I nodded. "I'm not sure where to begin." "Strange things have been happening at the house." Her voice was low, almost soothing. "What kind of things?" I looked at her for a moment, then replied. "Well, objects are being moved. The Bible, for instance. It was missing from its shelf in the kitchen, and Grandmother became convinced that someone stolen it. Later, I spotted it in the library. Instead of being glad I found it, she was angry and kept starring at the spot it had occupied." "Which was on a library shelf," Mrs. Riley said. "Yes, just left of the fireplace." The psychic's head lifted slightly. "Tell me more." Feeling a little more comfortable, I rested my hands on the table. "This morning we found that a picture had been moved from the front parlor to the music room. Grandmother started getting weird again – paranoid, as if someone were doing this to her, as if _I_ were doing it."

"A painting," she repeated. "A landscape," I said. "A picture of a mill." Mrs. Riley didn't make a sound, but I saw the buttons on her dress move and catch the light as if she had quickly sucked in a breath. "Yesterday a clock was missing from Grandmother's desk." "A small clock… an old one," she murmured. "Yes. It has a picture painted on its face, roses and –" "Was it found on the hall table?" I blinked. "How did you know?" She sat back in her chair. "That is where it used to be kept. The Bible always sat on a shelf by the library's hearth. The mill painting hung over the Chinese chest in the music room." "You mean things are being moved back to where they were years ago? To where they were when you worked there?" She nodded her head slowly, rhythmically. "But then why would Grandmother blame me? How would I know where those things were kept? I don't see how Gajeel would know, either, unless Grandmother told him."

Mrs. Riley's eyes closed, then drifted open again. She looked past me as if she were looking into another world. She stared for so long I turned around to see what was there. Nothing extraordinary – a flowered sofa, a table piled with Baggies, her herbal stuff. "The clock belonged to Avril," Mrs. Riley said. "She insisted on placing it in the hall. She hated the big grandfather clock." "I don't blame her," I remarked. "It's like a guard stationed on the landing, watching you come in and out. You can hear it tolling wherever you are in the house." "Avril called it the big bully. She would reset the small clock to whatever time she wanted it to be. Her parents played along, allowing her to come home long after she was supposed to. I'm surprised your grandmother didn't throw out that wretched little clock." "It's an antique." I said. "What's one more antique?" Mrs. Riley said. "Porlyusica has money to burn."

"Maybe it reminds her of Avril." "That's precisely why she would throw it out." I was surprised by the bitterness in Mrs. Riley's voice. "Did you work there when Avril was alive?" I asked. "I was the personal maid for both girls." "But you must've been their age." "A year older than Avril," she replied, "two years older than Porlyusica." That couldn't have been easy, I thought, especially if Avril acted like a princess. "What were they like, my grandmother and Avril?" Mrs. Riley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Avril was pretty, popular, and spoiled. She was always into something and got too much attention from her parents. Poor, serious Porlyusica got nothing." "That doesn't sound fair." "Porlyusica was a good girl. She read a lot and always kept her room neat. It was nothing for me to pick up after her. But Avril! She didn't care where she threw things, and her room was small and crowded. She insisted on sleeping in the back wing."

"The back wing?" I sat up a little straighter. "Oh I knew what she was up to, even if her parents didn't. She could get in and out of the house by way of the kitchen roof." I put my hand over my mouth. Avril had slept in the room where I'd awakened, where Cana had seen the ghost. "What is it?" Mrs. Riley asked. "Nothing." The pupils of her eyes were like dark pins tacking me to the wall; she wouldn't let me go until I gave a better answer. "I've been in that room," I said at last. "It has roses on the wallpaper." "Avril adored roses. She wanted them in vases, in her hair, in bouquets brought by her boyfriends, and she always got what she wanted. Poor Porlyusica grew terribly jealous and angry. I didn't blame her, not after Avril stole Thomas." "But my grandfather was Thomas." I said, puzzled. Mrs. Riley nodded, her eyes long, dark slits, as if focusing on a distant memory.

"He was Porlyusica's beau first – at least publicly. There were other girls, many others. _Money _is what made up Thomas's mind." It wasn't a flattering picture of my mother's father, but I had come for the truth. "He was a cabinetmaker, an apprentice hired to do repair work at Scarborough House," Mrs. Riley continued. "Thomas was talented but had no money. He switched from Porlyusica to Avril, who, as the oldest, was supposed inherit Scarborough House. When Avril died, everything became Porlyusica's. Everything including Thomas. I sat back in my chair thinking about how Grandmother must have felt, dumped, then picked up again, second choice. Still, it happened so long ago. "I don't understand why any of this would matter to her now, but something has set her off, and it seems connected to Avril."

"Some wounds heal, others fester," Mrs. Riley replied. "Have you seen the ghost at Scarborough House?" I asked. "No. Not long after Avril died, I married and left the house. I have never been invited back." "Is it possible that my grandmother thinks she is being haunted by the ghost of her dead sister?" Mrs. Riley ran her gnarled hands over the table, touching it with just the tips of her fingers, as if she were using a Ouija board. "Why do you say _thinks_?" she asked. "Because you don't believe it's possible?" "I don't know. I really don't. Can a ghost move things?" "Yes," she replied. "Can a ghost" – I hesitated – "lead a person somewhere, guide a person to a room or place?" "Certainly you have heard accounts of ghost revealing where they've hidden valuables," she said. "How did Avril die?" Mrs. Riley studied me long and hard. "Do you want the real story or the family told?" "Both." I replied.

"According to the family doctor, according to what Mr. and Mrs. Scarborough wanted him to say, it was an allergic reaction." "To what?" I asked, curious. "Redcreep. It grows here on the shore. Since old times, girls and women have used mixtures of it as a beauty potion. It dilates the eyes, brings color into the cheeks. They found a bottle on Avril's bureau." "And the real story?" "It was an overdose. Avril, like a lot of girls back then, had taken redcreep before. She wasn't allergic to it. She was sneaking out to see Thomas that night – Porlyusica and I both knew it – and wanted to look pretty. She became ill at the mill, which was their secret meeting place. Thomas rushed her to a doctor, but she died on the way. An overdose of redcreep. Even good things can harm you if too much is taken at one time. So typical of Avril," she added, "always wanting to do more, try more, have more, flaunting limits. The family did not want a cause like 'overdose' to be listed in the paper. That would make Avril responsible, and she never got blamed for anything. Of course, the Scarborough had their way, money always does."

Mrs. Riley rested her chin on her hands. Her voice sounded tired, as if the bitter edge I heard earlier had turned, an all she could feel now was the flat of the knife. "I guess that's most of my questions," I said. "How much should I pay you?" "There is no charge for today," she replied, rising with me. "Really, I planned to," I told her, but she refused the money and led the way to the door. "I would send your grandmother my regards," she said, opening the door to downstairs, "but I doubt that would please her. It would be best not to mention that you saw me today." "Why?" I asked, confused. "It's free advice, girl," she replied. "Take it or leave it." "Thanks," I said, and took a step down, which was a good thing since she closed the door on my heel.

_Man oh man, that was like a boatload for me to write. And I don't even know why! Well please, as always, tell me what you think! REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED! HAVE A NICE DAY!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey guys, so I saw that _Lexie and the anime _got confused about Mrs. Riley and Miss. Lydia. Sorry that I changed it up on you, but the fortune teller name is Lydia Riley, so Lydia is her first name and Riley is her last. SORRY ABOUT THE CONFUSION! ALSO, SORRY ABOUT ME TAKING FOREVER TO UPDATE!_

_As for _**mayvicbot** _you'll just have to wait and find out. I will eventually explain (in the story of course) what is going on and you'll understand._

_NOW LETS GET ON WITH THE STORY!_

I grabbed breakfast downstairs at the café then headed for work. Mira was incredibly patient with me that day. I had to count a pack of singled four times before I got it right and gave her nickels when she asked for dimes. At 3:10 I apologized for my mistakes. She smiled. "Don't worry about it. Are we still on for Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday?" "Yup." Mira was giving me Friday off to rest up for "the weekend invasion." Instead of going home after work, I wandered up and down High Street and the streets around it, thinking about the things I'd learned from Mrs. Riley. I didn't see the Jeep pass by, not until Natsu hung out the back, waving and calling my name. It stopped half block ahead of me and two girls got out, Minerva and one of her echoes. They looked in my direction, then quickly turned away and said something to the guys. As soon as they started up the walk, Natsu called out, "Hey, Levy, where you going?" "Nowhere special," I answered as I got closer. "Just walking."

"Want a ride?" he asked. I glanced at Gajeel, hoping for an invitation from him. He said nothing. "Climb in," Natsu encouraged me. "You can ride up front." "I don't know if I want a ride that bad," I told him. "I saw how Gajeel drove the first day I was in town." "How did I drive?" Gajeel asked. "You nearly took Mira's fender with you." He frowned. "You sure? I didn't see you." "No kidding!" Natsu laughed, then Gajeel smiled and reached across the seat to open the door. I climbed in. we drove to a street near the woods that had a small house. Natsu hopped out on the passenger side, then leaned on the edge of my door. "Would you go out with me?" he asked. I didn't expect the question. "Um…" I started to turn toward Gajeel. Natsu reached up and caught my face lightly with his hand. "You don't need his permission, do you?"

"I guess not." I heard my cousin's seat squeak. "It's just that I'm not here for very long, and I don't want to screw up the friendship you guys have." "If Gajeel doesn't like me going out with you, then _he's _screwing up the friendship, right?" I thought about it, then smiled. "Right. So when?" "Thursday night? We don't have school Friday and there's a big party at Minerva's." My smile went down. "Oh, no, sorry. Lucy and I are going to a movie." He looked surprised. "Can't you change it? I thought girls had a rule that when one of them got asked for a fate, all other plans were off." "I don't go by that rule." Behind me Gajeel laughed, a little too loudly, I thought. "It's not fair to the other person," I explained. "Especially Lucy. She's got enough to do with school and work. I don't want to change plans on her." "You mean Lucy Hearifilia?" Natsu asked. "We used to be buddies when we were in grade school. Why don't the four of us go to the party – you, me, Lucy, and Gajeel?" Now I did turn to my cousin. "He shrugged. "Ok with me." "I'll ask Lucy what she wants to do," I told Natsu, though I was pretty sure she'd be thrilled to be Gajeel's date. Natsu probably thought the same thing, for he gave the door a satisfied thump. "See you Thursday night."

As we pulled away from the curb, I said to Gajeel, "Don't worry about me and your friends. I'll be on my good behavior." "I was just getting used to you," he replied, "and now you're going to change?" "I can't win with you!" I exclaimed. "Didn't know you wanted to." I shook my head and sighed. "Listen, Gajeel, before we go to the house, we have to talk." "About Grandmother," he guessed, and slowed down a little. "Did she get worse after I left?" "Not worse, but she's really starting to get to me, the way she blames me for the things that are moved. I needed some information so I could figure out what was going on. I went to see Mrs. Riley." The firm set of his mouth and long silence told me he didn't like what I had done. "She used to work for the Scarboroughs," I went on, "back when Grandmother and Aunt Avril were teens. Did you know that?" "I knew she had worked at the house." He flicked the Jeep's blinker with one finger, then made a sharp turn. "And I know better than to trust her."

"She told me that the Bible, the clock, and the painting were moved back to where they used to be years ago, when Avril was alive." He glanced sideways at me. I couldn't see enough of his face to know if he was surprised by the news. "Mrs. Riley has a way of coaxing information out of people," he said, "then feeding it back to them in a different form, so that they think she's telling them something new." "But she guessed where the clock was found. And though I told her the landscape was moved to the music room, she knew it was hung over the Chinese chest." "Levy, think about the size of the painting. Where else would you hang it in the music room? As for the clock, a lot of people keep them in entrance halls. Every old house in Magnolia has a grandfather clock in the hall or on the stairway landing." "It's too much of a coincidence," I insisted. "Mrs. Riley makes her living off of coincidences. I hope you didn't pay her a lot." "She didn't charge," I replied somewhat smugly. "She's counting on you to come back. then she'll charge double," he said, sounding just as smug.

We rumbled across the bridge. I turned back to look at it, remembering that Lucy had seen the ghost there. Didn't ghosts haunt battlefields and other places where they died? If Avril had died somewhere between the mill and the doctor's, could it have been while Thomas was driving over the bridge? "Where's the mill?" I asked. "On the creek. About a third of a mile beyond Grandmother's driveway there's a road to the left. It runs down to the mill." "We've got some time," I said. "Let's go." "No," he responded quickly. "Why not?" "There's nothing to see," he said. "It's been abandoned for years and is full of mice and rats." I huffed. "Fine, I'll go later without you." He shook his head. "Pigheaded." "Yea," I agreed, "amazing, isn't it? We're not related by blood, but we share that family trait." "Listen, Levy, you can't go inside the mill. Most of it's made of wood, and it's rotting. The structure's unsafe." As he said that, he drove past Grandmother's driveway. I tried not to smile. "Don't smirk," he told me. "Another family trait." "I'm taking you there so you don't go by yourself," he said." "Understand?" "Yes. Thank you, big brother." Mutual smirk.

The road down to the mill was bumpy, its stone and shell layer worn away, leaving long bare sports and deep nuts. Bushes and small trees grew close to the road and scratched the side of the Jeep. Gajeel muttered a few choice words. Then suddenly we were in a clearing with a sea of tall grass washing around us. The soft weathered wood of the mill rose above it, two stories, topped by an attic under a sloping roof. "It's the one in the painting," I said. Gajeel nodded. A structure like a dormer window projected out of the middle of the steep roof, but it was larger, framing a door. The roof door gaped open, leaving a dark cavity in the light gray building. The first and second stories had doors that lined up beneath the roof entrance, but they were closed, as was a side door. All the windows were shuttered.

"Where's the waterwheel?" I asked. "Around the side." I got out of the Jeep. "Levy? Don't go inside." He warned. "I'll be back." I said. A moment later he trudged behind me to the bacnk of a stream that ran toward the basement wall of the mill. The large, motionless wheel next to the wall looked like the rusty paddle wheel of a steamboat. "Not exactly rushing water," I observed. "The mill works from a pond," Gajeel explained, pointing toward a rise in ground on the other side of the road. "When the gates are opened, the water comes in over the top of the wheel, using gravity to turn it." I nodded, then gazed up again at the dark entrance into the roof. "Have you ever seen a ghost here?" "There is no ghost," he replied. "This is where Avril came, the day she died." He looked at me surprised. "How do you know that?"

"Mrs. Riley told me. She said Avril came with our grandfather. Thomas was Grandmother's boyfriend first, then Avril stole him from her. This was Thomas and Avril's secret meeting place." He scoffed. "I don't believe it." "Do you have any reason not to?" I asked. "Mrs. Riley is a gossip and she's always been out to get our family." I looked at him, "That's a pretty flimsy reason." "We've spent enough time here," he told me abruptly, then started towards the Jeep. I caught up with him. "Mrs. Riley said –" "I think it'd be a good idea," he interrupted, "if you, Lydia Riley, and Grandmother started living in the present." "Not knowing what happened in the past can keep you from living fully in the present." "It's not relevant," he argued, and opened the door on my side of the Jeep. "Get in." "No." I replied. He reached for my arm. I pulled back, but he held on, so tightly I winced. "You're hurting me!" he let go. "I have some more looking to do." Gajeel leaned against the Jeep and said nothing.

I headed around the other side of the mill. As the land sloped down to the water the ground beneath my feet became soft and claylike, perhaps flooded by the creek, which was about twenty feet away. The mill looked tall from the creek side, four stories of it towering above me, the basement's brick wall exposed. At the base of the building was a Dutch door, its lower half open. It was an inviting mouse hole – and people hole. I walked over to the double door and pushed on the top half. It didn't budge. I knelt and crawled through the bottom, tumbling into the darkness head-first – there were two steps down on the inside. The floor was wet, covered with gross stuff. Ahead of me I could see nothing but vague shapes. Standing up, I turned toward the door and ran my hands over the top portion until I felt a bolt. After several tries, I slid back and pulled open the upper half of the door, letting in more light.

When I turned to face the basement again, I gasped. At the far end of the long room were wheels – big gears – one interlocking with the next, the largest was as tall as I. I was in the basement of my dream, where I had hidden from Gajeel. I sank down on the doorstep, afraid to cross to the other side, afraid to get close to those wheels. How had I come to dream of this place? I doubted I was reading the images of my _mother's _mind. The voice, the dreams, awakening in Avril's room, the movement of objects to where Avril would expect them – it was Avril I was connecting with. My skin felt cold and clammy. I stood quickly. "Leave me alone," I said, stumbling out of the entrance. "Just leave me alone!" Gajeel, who had been hovering a short distance away, heard me. He stepped back, turned abruptly, and strode up the hill to his Jeep.

Neither of us spoke on the way home. I knew Gajeel thought that I was telling him to leave me alone. But there wasn't much I could do about it. He wouldn't believe I had been talking to a ghost. He parked in front of the house and got out of the Jeep without glancing at me. Following him up the porch steps, I noticed the clay and mud caked on the think rubber soles of his Nikes. "Our shoes are a mess," I said, sitting down on a bench to remove mine. He checked his, then sat opposite of me. By the time he started unlacing his shoes, mine were off and I was carrying them into the house. Grandmother met me, coming through the door from the back wing. "You're late." "For dinner?" I glanced up at the landing clock. It wasn't five yet. She stared at my shoes. "What were you doing after work?" "Hanging out," I replied. Gajeel came in the door and Grandmother's eyes darted to his shoes. Color rose in her cheeks. "Where have you been?" Though the question had been fired at him, I answered, since the trip had been my idea. "To the mill."

"Why did you take her there?" Grandmother demanded, still focusing on Gajeel. I saw the wary look on his face. "I asked him to," I said. "I'm not talking to _you_." "Levy wanted to see the place," Gajeel replied, "and I thought it'd be safer if I went with her." "Levy wanted to see the place," Grandmother mimicked. "I did," I said. "I was curious." Grandmother took a step towards me. "I told you the day you came that I expected you to respect my privacy. Didn't I?" I nodded silently. "I'm speaking to you now. Answer me aloud!" "Yes Grandmother." I couldn't snap at her. If I was feeling haunted by Avril's presence, I could only imagine how she felt. "So now you're going to be sweet and soft-spoken," she observed, her lips curling. "Sweet and sneaky." "Ease up Grandmother," Gajeel said. "Did you ever tell Levy not to go to the mill?" "Are you defending her?" she snarled. "All I'm saying is you're getting worked up over a little visit to the mill," he replied.

"And Lydia Riley?" she added. I looked at Grandmother, surprised. "Who told you that?" "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you promise not to speak to her again." "Why?" I asked. "Don't talk back to me!" Her voice was shrill. I sat down on the steps, hoping to make this a conversation than an irrational shouting match. "I wasn't talking back," I explained. "I was just wondering –" "You're living in my house, you'll follow my rules." I bit my lip, then nodded. Gajeel rested a hand on her arm. "Grandmother, be fair. Levy was just asking –" She turned on him. "I don't have to explain my rules to anyone, including you, Gajeel." Her jaw began to shake. "I can't trust you anymore. Not since _she's _come." "What do you mean?" he asked. "You're loyal to her now."

He stared at Grandmother. It was if he had to be on her side, or my side, and wasn't allowed to care about both of us at the same time. "Get a hold of yourself," he said, and walked out the back door of the hall. Grandmother stood in front of me, her head held high, then strode into the library and shut the door behind her. I remained sitting on the steps, bewildered by her jealous suspicions. Some wounds heal, others fester, Mrs. Riley had said. Maybe Grandmother had never really healed from her first betrayal. Gajeel was the most significant person in her life now, and she the most consistent person in his. I wondered if she saw me as someone like Avril, putting myself between them. Maybe Grandmother was afraid of losing out again. Well, that was her problem. She was the one who chose to spin her world around one grandchild, rejecting my parents and bothers and me. I rose and climbed the stairs, feeling torn between pity and anger. Then I heard the machinery of the big clock begin to wind. I took the steps two at a time, hurrying past before it could start its dismal tolling.

_Soryy for the long time to update. This is one of the longer chapters and lately ive been so busy between my personal life and school. And it doesn't help that I've been really sick lately. I'll try to update faster next time but I'm not sure how long it'll take. I'll try to do at least an update every week. UNTIL NEXT TIME!_


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